#like she does this shrill screaming shit that does sound horrible but she’s just like. chillin

[beyoncecock]

picked some delicious marionberries again today. thought it’d be a good day

[lokust]

A God doesn’t Giggle

LMAO HEY I’M BACK.

I was rather inactive for a few days because I had a violent allergic reaction to 75mgs of a new medication, but I’m better now!

(Also, I don’t ever post any stories, but I wrote this one knowing I was gonna post it so I was rather nervous. My apologies if it seems forced or too short. I felt the pressure with this one.)

————————-

The question Mobius often asked himself was ‘How does one deal with the God of Mischief?’.

But the question he had asked himself earlier was ‘Oh shit, how do I deal with the God of Mischief when I’ve made him so genuinely upset that he won’t even cause any mischief?’.

Loki was incredibly upset, with Mobius specifically. For once in his life, Loki was genuine, he was honest… and Mobius brushed him off, accusing him of lying and throwing him in a loop where he was reminded over and over again that he was worthless and undeserving of love.

Mobius had done everything he could think of to cheer Loki up; from telling him the exact opposite of what Sif had told him to searching through his fondest memories and putting him in each and every happy memory he could simulate. None of it was enough, and Loki was still hurt.

“Come on, Mobius”, he said to himself, still searching through Loki’s memories and flipping through all of his files, “If you had just listened to him for once…”. He had left Loki in a simulation of a memory where Frigga had taught him his favorite spells and tricks, hoping it would be enough to at least get a smile from the God.

He had been watching the best memories of Loki’s life for what felt like hours, but he was willing to watch for 48 hours more if it meant finding a solution to the pain he’d caused. He clicked and forwarded through some memory Loki had with Thor back on Asgard.

He had almost disregarded it entirely, but something about the tone in Loki’s voice caught his attention. It was a nervous tone, yet somehow… playful? Mobius couldn’t quite describe.

“Thor… Thor, get away from me. Okay. I am much too old for these antics now”.

Mobius watched intently, observing the interaction between the two as closely as he could manage.

“Oh come on, little brother! It’s never failed to get you out of these moods before!”

Yes. Yes, this is what Mobius needed. This was the solution.

Suddenly a shrill screech filled the small room as Thor had seemingly attacked his brother.

Mobius sighed in disappointment, “Well, that blows. I can’t wrestle him back to happiness”.

He got ready to start searching again, until the loud laughter of two Gods filled the room instead.

Mobius watched as Loki writhed in his brother’s arms, laughing unwillingly as he tried to escape the hands that clawed at his sides and ribs while Thor simply laughed at the sounds he was producing from his brother.

Mobius’s eyes lit up, finally shutting it down and turning to walk out of the room, “Damn it, Thor, you’re a genius”.

—

——

Loki sat on his bed beside his mother, sulking as he listened to her explain her magic to him.

The fireworks. She was teaching him how to make the fireworks, just in the palm of his hand. It was his favorite trick to do, and his favorite one to watch her do as well.

He’d been there with her for hours, relearning all of her favorite spells, but he couldn’t stop the thought in the back of his mind, reminding him she’d be gone and he’d be indirectly at fault.

He wanted to cry, and he could have, but suddenly, she was gone, and a golden doorway opened up to the left of him as Mobius stepped into the memory.

“Alright, Loki, I’ve got two things to say to you”.

Loki rolled his eyes with a scoff, “Grand, but I’ve got nothing to say to you, Mobius. Couldn’t you have just left me here with my mother?”. The trickster crossed his arms against his chest, looking away from Mobius with a scowl.

The blond just sighed, “Alright, I deserve that, I really do, but just hear me out, alright?”, he said, approaching the taller man carefully.

“I’m sorry, Loki. Alright? I am truly, horribly sorry. I should’ve believed you. I should’ve listened to you, and I definitely shouldn’t have thrown you back in that loop with Lady Sif. You didn’t deserve that, and I, Mobius M. Mobius, am sorry”, he spoke genuinely, carefully placing a hand on Loki’s shoulder as he sat beside him.

Loki furrowed his eyebrows, glancing at Mobius from the corner of his eye, “I thought you had two things to say- Wait a moment… Mobius M. Mobius? Is your name Mobius Mobius Mobius?”

The agent sighed, “That’s not the point, and I do have one other thing to say, alright?”

Loki gave a simple nod, a silent signal to continue, but he didn’t like the smile that was slowly growing on Mobius’s face.

“I didn’t know you were ticklish”.

Loki’s eyes widened as he pulled away from Mobius, standing up and crossing the room immediately, “I… I’m not. That’s ridiculous. I never have been”.

Mobius just smiled, “Wrong”.

The God grumbled at the agent, “Alright fine. I grew out of it”.

The shorter man looked like he was having a field day, “Wrong again”, he said, standing up to approach his friend.

Loki scowled at him, “Mobius, this collar may keep me from using my powers, but it won’t keep me from biting all of your fingers off if you get any closer to me”.

The agent hissed as he looked down at his hand, “Ouch, that one really does sound painful, but how about this, alright? You stop sulking around like an angry little dog, and maybe I won’t tickle you, deal?”

The God backed away as Mobius came closer and closer to him, but suddenly he found himself backed into a wall with Mobius so close he was practically pinned in place. He huffed at his blond friend, but simply stayed silent.

Mobius shrugged, “Alright, fine… but you asked for this”.

Suddenly, Mobius had Loki’s arms pinned above his head, the taller of the two struggling in place as Mobius fought to get both of his wrists in one hand.

“Why are you fighting it so hard? I thought you said you weren’t ticklish?”, he gasped suddenly as if he was shocked, “Did you… Did you lie to me, Loki? I can’t believe you’d do such a thing”.

Oh, if looks could kill, Mobius would’ve certainly been a goner, but the faint blush on Loki’s face certainly overpowered any threat behind the scowl.

Loki’s breath hitched as he eyed the hand that now rested on his side, but he looked back at Mobius immediately, unwilling to show any sign of anticipation or nervousness. The agent was looking at him as intently as possible, his mind set on finding even a hint of happiness in Loki’s expression.

“Alright, I’m tired of you sulking around like this, and even more so, I’m tired of seeing you in pain because of my mistakes”, suddenly, Mobius’s hand came to life at Loki’s side, clawing and scratching up and down to really test the God’s sensitivity.

Loki threw his head back against the wall,

“G-Goddamnit Mobius! Quihihit ihihihit!”, he bit his lip through his laughter in hopes to suppress it, but Mobius moved his hand up higher, spidering now at Loki’s ribs. That action produced something that was definitely not a squeal, thank you very much.

“You suhuhuhuck! Lehehet me gohohohoho!”, he spat, thrashing side to side as he tried to get away from his friend, but his mind was too boggled and he was split between fighting against it and just letting it happen.

Not that he enjoyed it or that he was having fun, no definitely not. That’s ridiculous.

It had just… been so long since he was able to laugh like that. Yeah. That’s all.

He was ashamed to admit the noises coming from him most definitely qualified as giggles, so he wouldn’t be admitting it, but that’s most certainly what they were.

“Aw, cute. That’s something I didn’t expect to hear from a God, but giggles are cute so who am I to judge?”, Mobius teased, alternating between spidering at Loki’s sides and digging into his ribs while the trickster tried to sink to the floor with no luck.

His eyes widened at Mobius’s words, “I- I do nohohot gihihiggle, you ahahass! Now stahahahap!”

Mobius just hummed, “Mmm… No, I don’t think I will. You very obviously lied about not being ticklish, but you look pretty happy right now, so I’ll keep this up for a while”.

Gods don’t whine, except for when they do, and that’s exactly what Loki did as Mobius’s skittering fingertips slipped to the back of his rib cage.

Loki squealed and suddenly tugged at his arms as hard as he could manage, shocking Mobius enough to slip away from him, but when he started to run, he realized there wasn’t much of anywhere to go.

Mobius knew Loki had nowhere to go, so he stayed in place, watching Loki search frantically for a place to run or hide before he gave in and rolled onto his bed, moving to sit on his knees and eye Mobius warily.

“Oh look at you”, Mobius said, approaching the God slowly, “You really got nowhere to go now”.

Loki put his hands up in front of himself as Mobius came closer and closer, “Now- Now, hang on, Mobius. Wait just a moment, can’t we talk about this like adults?”

Mobius hummed in thought, sitting himself on the edge of the mattress, “I don’t really think it’s necessary. The whole point is to get you smiling again, so what’s the point of talking?”

Loki racked his brain for any argument he could make and came up mostly blank, “Can’t you tell a joke or something?”

Mobius shook his head, “No fun in that, but this”, he said, suddenly tackling Loki into the mattress, just to pin him down and straddle his hips, “this is fun, wouldn’t you agree?”.

Loki shook his head frantically, tugging at his arms as they were pinned beneath Mobius’s knees.

Mobius unbuttoned the few bottom buttons of Loki’s white shirt, slipping his hands underneath the fabric and causing the God to nearly scream through his gritted teeth.

“MOBIUS- MOBIUS NO! Get out!”.

Mobius was taken aback for a moment but he couldn’t stop himself from laughing at the dramatic reaction, “Worse on the bare skin, huh?”, he chuckled, drumming his fingers against Loki’s hips.

Loki held his breath as he threw his head back against his mattress, grumbling empty threats through his teeth and kicking out behind Mobius.

“I was doing this mainly to cheer you up, but this is entertaining”, he teased, tracing his fingertips up to Loki’s sides to spider and scratch at them as gently as he could manage.

Loki squealed as he drummed his feet on the mattress and tugged at his hands, “Mohohobius nohoho! Nohohoho quit ihihihit! You’re ahahahawful!”, he spat insults at his friend as he thrashed and squirmed beneath him, the ticklish sensation teasing his nerves maddeningly.

Mobius just smiled before clawing his way to Loki’s ribs, scratching in and out and side to side before spidering and thumbing between the bones, attempting to decide which got the best reaction.

“NO! Nonono, not thahahahat!”, the trickster’s laughter got higher in pitch and increased drastically in volume with the tickling in the spaces between his ribs, and Mobius noticed the tears beginning to pool in his eyes.

He didn’t want to kill Loki, so he went back to the scratching, “You didn’t just lie about being a little sensitive. You, my friend, are desperately fucking ticklish”.

Loki shook his head, but he was struggling to form words. The longer Mobius tickled, the worse it felt, “Stahahahahap, I cahahahan’t! I can’t, Mohohohobius. MOHOHOHOBIUS NOHOHOHO!”

Mobius stopped suddenly when his hands touched the center of Loki’s abdomen, watching the God do everything he could to sit up and get away from his captor, but he just couldn’t do it.

“Ohoh, bad spot, huh?”, Mobius teased, using his fingers to trace teasingly around the bare skin of Loki’s stomach.

“Mobius, please, don’t do this to me. Let me go, and I promise I won’t be upset anymore, okay? Just please… don’t”, Loki was ashamed of himself and his over dramatic reactions, but if there was one thing he couldn’t handle, it was being tickled there.

Mobius cooed sympathetically, “Aww, too ticklish?”, he asked as if he was considering letting Loki go, “Man… that sucks doesn’t it?”

Loki’s eyes widened and he went to protest, but he didn’t have a chance as Mobius’s fingertips skittered mercilessly around his belly.

He squealed and screamed and tried to buck Mobius off of him, but he was stuck, “PLEHEHEHEHEASE STOHOHOHOHOP! STOP IHIHIHIT!”

Mobius smiled down at him, using all ten of his fingers to vibrate his hands in the very center of the God’s abdomen.

“NOHOHOHOHOHO, SHIHIHIHIHIT! MOBIUHUHUS!”, he drummed his feet against the mattress, looking down at Mobius’s hands as his tormentor stopped for just a moment.

“I got a question”, Mobius said, using just one finger to trace around the tense muscles of his friend’s abdomen, circling dangerously close to the little divot in the center of his stomach.

Loki looked back and forth from Mobius’s hand to the smug grin on his face as he tried to collect himself and rid himself of any residual giggles, “Then ask it”.

Mobius hummed, “I’m getting there”, he remarked, “How ticklish do you think you are riiight… here”, he asked, teasing and circling the rim of Loki’s bellybutton.

Loki squirmed and whined pitifully as anticipatory giggles poured from his lips, “Dohohon’t. Don’t do thahahahat. Please, plehehehease”,

With his free hand, Mobius tickled up and down Loki’s side, pinching at the fleshy area, “Aww, I like that you said please”, he teased as Loki tried to roll to one side to protect the one that Mobius was tickling, “But… Im gonna do it anyway”.

Mobius dipped his finger in his ticklish friend’s bellybutton, wiggling at the base and walls of the little divot while he tickled around his belly and sides with his other hand.

“NO- NOHOHOHOHO! I CAN’T TAHAHAKE IT!”, he squirmed and kicked as Mobius tickled him mercilessly, one hand scratching relentlessly at the spaces between his ribs before he finally had some mercy on him and started tickling around his belly again instead of in his bellybutton.

Loki snorted, but he was too weak to fight and too lost to be embarrassed about it. His nerve endings felt like they were on fire and it was the only thing he could think about as those pesky tears finally fell.

Mobius had mercy on him, ceasing his tickling and allowing Loki to calm down, “Alright, let me try one more thing, and I’ll quit, okay?”, he asked gently, a fond smile playing at his lips as the trickster tried to hide his red face in his shoulder.

“Just do it”, he breathed out heavily, trying to prepare himself for whatever Mobius was going to do.

Slowly and carefully, Mobius moved his knees off of Loki’s hands to reposition himself and sit lower on his his friend’s thighs. He unbuttoned just a few more buttons on Loki’s shirt and pushed it up as high as he could manage.

Carefully, Mobius laced his fingers with Loki’s to hold his hands in place. The God panted in an attempt to gather himself when he tensed his muscles once more, recognizing Mobius’s actions immediately as the blond leaned down so his face was just above Loki’s abdomen.

Loki shook his head, “Oh for fuck’s sake, Mobius, why?”

Mobius just shrugged, “I just wanna know how you’ll react”.

Loki didn’t even try to deny it, “Visciously”.

Mobius hummed, “Alright, then I’ll just hold you tighter”, he said teasingly, suddenly taking a deep breath.

Loki braced himself, shaking already as a nervous smile played at his lips.

Mobius put his lips right over his friend’s bellybutton and blew as hard as he could.

Loki squealed and snorted and squirmed as the first raspberry rippled across his abdomen torturously before Mobius blew one after the other all over his tummy,

“NOHOHOHOHO! NONONOHOHOHO! PLEHEHEHEASE! Plehehease, please, Mobius- NOHOHOHOHOHO!”, the small breaks he got in between each raspberry were just long enough to drive him crazy while Mobius breathed in to blow another.

The agent lifted his head once more, breathing in as deeply as possible before blowing the longest, most ticklish raspberry he could manage right over Loki’s bellybutton. He couldn’t take it anymore, his brain was fuzzy and his lungs were burning, “MERCY! MEHEHERCY!”

Mobius stopped immediately, sitting up and letting Loki breathe, “Alright, calm down. I’m done now”, he soothed , moving off of his legs to allow Loki to curl up on his side and wrap his arms around himself.

Loki’s body shook with leftover giggles as he tried to rub away the ghost tickles around his abdomen and wipe away the tears on his cheeks.

Mobius smiled at him, patting his back lovingly, “You happy now, big guy?”.

Loki glared at him, but nodded nonetheless, eliciting a small chuckle from Mobius.

“Good, good. I’m pretty happy too. Hearing the God of Mischief snort and giggle is a great serotonin booster”, he teased, nodding approvingly and giving him a thumbs up.

Loki huffed as he felt his cheeks heat up, “I do not giggle, Mobius”.

Mobius rolled his eyes, “Then what were you doing while you were pretending to try to get away?”.

Loki sat up, his eyes widening in shock, “I was not pretending!”, he scowled, pushing Mobius back a little before crossing his arms over his chest.

“Sure you weren’t, and you definitely don’t giggle, and you’re certainly not pouting right now.”, he said, sarcasm just dripping from his tone.

Loki looked at him, his expression softening as he thought about how much Mobius must have cared about his happiness to have went through the trouble to make him laugh like that.

“I uh… Thank you, Mobius”, he whispered, looking down at his lap as he spoke, “for caring”.

Mobius huffed out a small laugh, “Don’t thank me, big guy. You deserve it”.

Loki smiled, leaning against his friend’s chest and allowing himself to relax as Mobius wrapped an arm around him. Both of them smiled, trying not to look at each other for the sake of their own shyness.

It was quiet. It was peaceful. They were happy…. but who would the God of Mischief be without causing a little trouble?

“So… your full name is Mobius Mobius Mobius?”

Mobius tightened his arm around Loki with an impatient sigh, “Don’t make me pin you down again”.

—

——

The next few days passed full of smiles and jokes, and plenty of passing pokes and tickles to Loki’s sides and belly.

Loki knew now that Mobius cared, and he knew that Mobius was sorry, and that was all he could ask for.

And if pretending to be upset or just being ridiculously stubborn became a part of Loki’s daily routine, who was anyone to complain about it?

Certainly not Mobius, but he was always there to take care of Loki’s moods.

[badmoonbasketcase]

STRANGER THINGS - TIME JUMP

Genre: heartbreaking

Word count: 4500+ (three parts/no master list currently)

TW - Conversations about Eddie - dead bodies - stranger things vol 2 spoilers

THIS IS A ONE SHOT WRITTEN DURING THE TIME JUMP PERIOD OF TWO DAYS. THE FIRST PART IS - Steve, Nancy, Dustin, Robin, Erica & Lucas.

Steve, Nancy, Robin & Dustin.

"Steve!" Robin screamed as the world around them vibrated, and crashing sounds echoed from every wall around them. He pushed his hands against the floor not worrying about the vines that squelched and spat wetly below his grip. It was dark, too dark as he searched around in the dust and debris. He hissed as the wound on his stomach reopened from the force of being blown off his feet. Digging his hand under his jacket his fingers dipped into the wet, sticky warmth. "Shit," he pulled his hand out, covered in blood.

"Steve!" His name was called again as Nancy's shrill voice bounced off the crumbling walls. Panic coursed through his body as he focused on the sounds around him. He saw her head of hair push out from a doorway to his left, breathing heavily but she was alive and moving. He could hear the shuffling of her feet and the sound of her shotgun rubbing against the floor.

"Robin," he called out, his voice cracking from inhaling so much dust. He turned, clocking the door behind him, what little bit of light there was from the moon spilled into the decaying foray. "You gotta get up," he yelled, "get to your feet, Robin!" He screamed, wrapping his hand around the handle of his ax and using what was left of the walls to feel his way down the hallway.

"Shit," he swore as his boot caught against something that wasn't rotten or squishy, "shit, shit," he knelt next to her, blood dripping from her temple.

"You look horrible," she groaned, her eyes fluttering open lazily.

"Yeah you too superstar," he groaned, shoving the piece of wall that had fallen on top of her to the floor and pulling her by the underarms until she slid free of danger and both of them fell back against the ground. Steve's arm hung over her and just for a moment, he let himself hug her.

Pressing his head against hers, their breathing labored, Robin trembled against him. For the first time in their entire friendship, she was silent. "We gotta go," he nodded to himself, out of breath. He scooted from below her and back to his feet before extending his hand to her and helping her off the ground.

"Nancy!" Robin screamed as she skidded up to them, her gun cocked and worry written all over her face. She dropped the weapon to the side and her eyes grew wide at the sight of Robin's wound.

"Are you okay?" She asked her, using her hand to turn her head. Robin nodded in response, her hand still gripping tightly to Steve's jacket for stability. "You?" Nancy turned her doe eyes up at him, dirt and blood smeared across her delicate round face. Steve sighed, overcome with relief that she was alive. He dipped his head once in response, "Max."

The words left her lips and Steve felt the relief wash from his body like a tidal wave going back out to sea, the chimes had rung through the air just before everything had gone to shit. His throat closed thinking of Max, how scared she had been, but braver than any of them could ever be. He had let her down. Steve's jaw clenched tightly in an attempt to hold himself together as all the promises he ever made to the kid came flooding back. "We don't have time for this," he snapped, but neither woman moved, they just stared at him. Their features twisted in pain and worry.

"Chop chop," he clapped his hand against the handle of the ax.

"Let's hope Dustin and Eddie had a better time," Robin mumbled as they charged from the entryway and back onto the front steps of the Creel House. Red lightning cracked against the dark sky, monsters screamed in the distance as a loud rumbling noise erupted again.

"It's ripping open," Nancy gasped, staring at the sky.

"It's pouring into Hawkins," Robin whimpered from behind her. Steve reached back, grabbing her by the wrist so she would look at him. "We're all going to die," her eyes shifted wildly and he knew there was very little he could say to calm the storm of panic brewing behind them. Her nervous giggle drifted from her lips and she finally looked at him. "It was a good run, Dingus," she laughed.

"That's bullshit," he stared at her. "We aren't dying here. Run isn't over yet." He grabbed her by the shoulder and thrust them forward down the street. "Where's the closest gate?"

"Eddie's trailer," Robin screamed just trying to keep up with them as they jogged through the ash.

"The trailer that's swarming with demo bats?" Steve yelled looking over at Nancy, he shifted the ax in his hand ready for a fight, and kept running. Every step they took toward the trailer park was planted on shaking ground, huge pits of glowing red supernatural slime scattered in random patterns eating away at the upside-down.

"It's too quiet," Nancy said as they rounded the corner, her feet coming to a stop. Steve slowed down and turned to see her staring at the sky.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

She put her hand up, shushing him as Robin paused to look between them confused. "Where are all the monsters?" Steve wouldn't be the first to admit that the fear of silence was much more terrifying than the familiar sound of those bats shrieking, or the Demogorgon's enormous, echoing roars.

But it wasn't silence that Steve was met with. As the cracking sound of lightning died into the background of his thoughts he heard it. Dustin.

"No, no, no," He spun in a circle on his boots, frantically looking around. "You little shit," he mumbled to himself. His brown eyes searched the darkness around them, his lips moving a mile a minute but no sound fell from them.

"What?!" Robin yelled trying to get his attention long enough to know what was happening.

"Dustin!" Steve screamed, his voice cracking through the air loud enough to make both the women jump beside him. Steve took off running, the pain in his side unmistakably ruthless as he picked up his feet. He dropped the backpack he had been carrying, the ax, and all his fear as he launched himself over a broken-down car. His boots hit the ground with a crash and he picked his speed back up. "Shit," he hurled himself up, narrowly missing a massive tear in the cement below him.

He yelled again, and again just trying to figure out where the kid might be. Panic setting into his bones as the world shook around him so violently it knocked him to his knees. He pushed off his feet using his hands to straighten himself again and kept moving. Kept yelling, completely out of breath and his lungs begging for relief as he skidded to a stop. "What the hell did I tell you..." Steve's voice trailed off.

Soft cries came from the ball before him. Rings and rings of dead bats lay scattered, mushy, and rotten as if they had never even been alive, to begin with. Whatever had killed the vines that attacked them in the house had affected the bats in the trailer park too.

"Henderson?" The miracle that had saved their lives, hadn't spared Eddie from his fate.

"Steve," Dustin looked back at him, tears streaming down his face and heartbreak staining his features. "Steve," the words cracked from his lips as he realized it was him. "Steve you gotta help me, Eddie," his chest heaved as he jostled the body in his arms. "Eddie needs help, he's..."

"Oh," Steve's heart dropped, seeing Dustin completely distraught was not something he had ever prepared himself for. This wasn't something that Steve could pull him through with a badly timed sports analogy or a horribly worded pep talk. This wasn't in the babysitting manual. They had seen more death than the average teenager but this felt different, it felt wrong.

He worked through his sadness as the world shook, stepping over the outer rings of dead demo bats and getting down on one knee. Eddie had been one of them. He wasn't just a random high schooler or bystander taken by Vecna. He was as much a party member as—

"Steve," Nancy called from behind him, cutting off his thoughts, "we need to go! Now!" she hollered. He turned to look at Dustin, "Steve, this isn't the time!" She called again.

"Hold on a moment!" He screamed back, furious with her for rushing Dustin. She straightened her shoulder, "I don't have time to babysit your feelings, Nance," he added. "Get Robin out of here."

"Steve," Robin protested. She shuffled closer, but he shook his head at her. "hurry," she whispered, her voice breaking. A silent understanding that he couldn't leave Dustin.

"Now, Nancy!" He ordered and she scrambled, pushing Robin toward the trailer.

Steve crept forward a touch further, pressing his hand to Dustin's shoulder and his other hand, two fingers extended to Eddie's lifeless, mangled throat. Blood slick brunette curls stuck to his pale face and broken lips. His down-turned mouth slightly parted like he died with a thought on them and his dark brown eyes stared back at Steve, haunting and cold. Steve's fingers caught on a silver chain as he pulled his hand from his neck. He tugged it loose of Eddie's jacket and played against the guitar pick, tugging on it. It clicked free of Eddie's neck. "You just had to be a hero," he sighed, sorrow settling in his bones. He turned on his heel, the gravel beneath his boots crunching, and looked at Dustin.

"Buddy," Steve said, low and tenderly to him, trying to let him down easily. He took his hand and laid the guitar pick into his palm, closing it around the chain. "Eddie's gone, man."

"No, no," Dustin shook his head. "The sheepies, they need him. He..." A hiccup bubbled from his lips as the ground shook below them, "you gotta help me. We have to get him to help Steve."

"Dustin," he grimaced, barely understanding his rambling but he knew they didn't have much time before they were swallowed by whatever the hell was coming out of the ground. "We gotta go. I know," he stopped gripping the back of his shoulder tightly, "I know this hurts."

"It doesn't hurt because he's not dead, Steve. Just help me." Dustin snapped, shaking from his grip and laying Eddie's lifeless body against the ground. "Help me!" He screamed, hobbling to his feet, and turning he slammed his fists into Steve's chest, "we can't leave him here. HE SAVED US, HE SAVED THIS TOWN," Dustin pushed against him until his arms gave out.

"It wasn't supposed to be him! It was his year! He was going to graduate! Eddie," Dustin turned back to Eddie's body, wrapping his hands around his shirt and yelling. "Eddie, get up man. Come on, just..." he cried, sobs wracking his small body over and over. His quiet, repetitive mumbles begging Eddie to wake up were like tiny slivers of glass to Steve's skin.

Dustin gripped the shoulders of his jacket, attempting to drag the body with him. But his ankle was busted and he only managed a few feet before falling to the ground in a pile of bats, blood, and ash.

"Dustin," Steve yelled out, fear choking his words as they ripped from his throat, the ground started to give out below them. "We have to go. We have to go now," he explained.

"I'm not leaving without him," Dustin screamed fighting against Steve.

"Well I'm not leaving without you," he huffed. You die, I die. Words are spoken last summer by a kid who had no concept of death. Steve wished it hadn't been this way, that Dustin could have just said blissfully unaware about how cruel this world, how cruel Hawkins could be. Steve pushed back the tears, rubbing at his face with the back of his hand.

"I'm sorry kid," Steve grunted, shaking free of his own emotions. He had to be strong, he couldn't break, not now. Not ever. They needed him. He had let his feelings for Nance distract him from their purpose, and now Eddie was dead. When he got distracted...Max, he whispered under his breath. He wouldn't lose anyone else. And it certainly wasn't going to be Dustin, throwing his weight into it as he wrapped his arms around Dustin in a bear hug and hauled him away from Eddie's body. A pang of stinging guilt filled his chest, making it hard to breathe.

"Eddie!" Dustin's scream ripped through him like an ax clearing a piece of wood. Clean in half, the sound was agony as Steve's legs fought to keep them both upright. Trembling, he dragged Dustin toward the trailer. "Let go of me, Steve!" He screamed louder. "I fucking hate you, I hate you!" Yeah kid, I fucking hate me too. He tried to block out the pain ripping through him with every word Dustin bellowed. He started to scream over and over, clawing at Steve's jacket as he hauled him through the trailer door.

Nancy had made it through, positioning the mattress roughly as Robin struggled to get through the hole without a rope. She fell awkwardly to the mattress, screaming on the way down. Steve tugged on the dead weight that Dustin had become, "listen to me Henderson," Steve growled, grabbing him by the hood and holding him in place. "You want to hate me? You have to be alive to do it, get your ass through that hole. Max is in trouble."

Her name flicked a switch in Dustin, he was still feral in Steve's grip, tears still violently streaking his dirty, bloody face. Steve hadn't realized how much blood he was covered in until the light from the trailer above cast an eerie pale glow on them. "Eddie is dead Dustin, but Max needs us."

Steve said the words out loud, feeling his strength waiver. "She needs you."

Dustin stared at him, shaking from his grip and hobbling off his pained ankle. He pushed against him again, Steve not strong enough to balance himself. His shoulders fell back and his lip quivered. Dustin screamed at him. "I needed you."

Steve stared at him, watching the wave of emotions rip through him without remorse. Chest heaving he got down on his knee, shaky and tired, silently offering his hand to Dustin. I'm here Henderson, just give me a break. Just for one moment. There are too many people to cover, too much space. Too much danger. Steve searched his face for any hint of compromise and found nothing but anger as he slammed his good ankle into Steve's palm and hoisted himself through the hole.

Steve dropped through just as the back half of the trailer split open, searing red flames burst through the floor, the sound of monsters and dread ripping around them disturbingly loud. The trailer tipped, squeaking under the offset of stability.

Steve collapsed to one knee, his hand planted on the shabby mattress as stars filled his vision. Blood trickled down his abdomen and soaked the top of his pants. Robin's face was wild with concern, "Steve?" her voice cracked. He pushed back on his heel and fell back on his ass to the trailer floor with a thud, running his bloody fingers through his chestnut waves.

"Yeah, yeah" he brushed off her hand as she tried to panic about the blood as the Hawkins shook violently below them again.

Robin jumped, attempting to open the door but it wouldn't budge. "Uh Steve?" she turned her face back to him. "It's stuck."

Groaning, feeling the nasty bites stretch back open as he stood he braced himself against the wall, his hand pressed to the foul wallpaper, leaned back as far as he could lifting his knee he kicked open the door with his foot as hard as he could. "I always wanted to do that," he huffed his dark eyes shifting to her with a tragic smile.

"Okay, Swayze. Let's go," Robin patted him proudly on the back, her hand lingering in distress as the sound of waning metal echoed around them.

"Everybody out!" Steve barked.

Nancy hustled to help Dustin to his feet as Steve shoveled him up in his arms again, kicking and screaming. Steve yelled as they slid from the trailer as the whole thing tipped on its side, Dustin still fighting against him even then. Steve finally let him go, wiping the dirt from his pants as he got to his feet. Dustin ran three feet from where they had thrown themselves out of the trailer and screamed at the top of his lungs. Raw, it aggressively ripped from his body as he cried into the void that expanded around them.

Robin put her hand on Steve's shoulder, holding him back but he tugged from the grip and moved toward Dustin. Knowing deep down nothing he could say would help but he wasn't going to stop trying. If the roles were reversed, the kid would talk him into or out of anything he was planning on doing. "Fuck you, Steve!" Dustin yelled, turning around. "We could have saved him!"

Steve nodded gently, letting him get it off his chest. "You could have brought his body back, he deserved to come home! You put yourself in charge, you didn't get to make that decision for him! I thought you were my hero! Turns out you only act like one to impress Nancy! He looked up to you too you know! He thought you were brave," Dustin sneered, his resentment getting the best of him. "King Steve, come to save the day." He threw his arms in the air, he was wailing so hard now that his voice was hitching in his throat and he was stumbling around trying to stay upright.

"Henderson," Steve tried to speak but he just waved his arms frantically.

"You can't fix this," his voice cracked harshly. "YOU CAN'T CHARM THIS BETTER! This isn't something you can talk your way out of Steve, Eddie is..." Dustin choked on his tears, his head lulling to the side as he fought against his rapid breathing. He pulled the headband from around his hood and threw it to the side, slamming it to the ground like the aggression might make him feel better.

"Eddie," he choked out, looking up to Steve. The wall broke inside of him finally. The wrath slipped away. "We gotta go get him," he repeated over and over. Steve watched as he teetered, his knees wobbling together he moved on swift feet and slid to catch Dustin before he hit the ground. The both of them come together in a tangled mess of blood, sweat, and tears. "We gotta get him, Steve," he mumbled against his arm.

Steve wasted no time, bringing Dustin between his legs. Steve wasn't even sure he had ever hugged Henderson. It felt oddly intimate. Different, he needed this as much as the kid. So he wrapped his arms around him, cradling the teenager between his knees, and letting him cry.

Robin and Nancy slumped against an old shipping container across from where Steve and Dustin had collapsed on the road. He pressed his hand against Dustin's shoulder and listened as he mumbled over and over again about Eddie. Each muffled sob from his throat tore down the defense that Steve had built around his emotions. "It's okay buddy," Steve rubbed a hand against his ringlet curls.

"He should be here," Dustin choked out, pushing back from his chest and sitting on his own. He looked at Steve, cold sadness filled his face and he didn't know how to make his best friend feel better. He swore to himself, under his breath wishing that Eddie was here. He had an easier time talking to Dustin. Eddie was a poet, Steve was just a jock. Bravery, blind faith, and stupidity couldn't help him now. It didn't matter that it made him jealous when Dustin spent more time with the long-haired, metal freak doing weird nerd crap. All that mattered was that Dustin had found his people. Eddie had been his person, and Steve was too busy worrying about his love life to see that.

It felt painfully poetic that Eddie had saved his life from the bats, only for Steve to be too late to return the favor. He sighed, just trying to make sense of his emotions. He didn't have time to sort through the anger, frustration, and agony that seemed to be drowning his heart and lungs. Their fight wasn't over yet, not by a long shot.

"I couldn't leave you in there Dustin," Steve looked at him, his lips pressing together in a harsh, sad line. Steve Harrington, he thought, was always the bad guy. "I made a promise to keep you shitheads safe."

Dustin's chest heaved, "some promise."

The world cracked in two. Steve nodded sadly, pushing himself off the ground clumsily, and stood with his hand on his hip while the other pressed to the bat bite hidden beneath layers of clothing. He looked down at Dustin, whose face was twisted with anger and sadness. Grief consumed his rational thinking every second he was able to sit and think about what happened.

"Let's get to Max," Steve turned to Robin, her hand tucked into Nancy's she extended her other with his ax and let him take it. Steve licked his bottom lip anxiously, holding back the tears threatening to fall. He gave them both a delicate head tilt and closed his soft brown eyes over briefly, trying to get a grip on his strength, he flipped the ax methodically in his sore palm before leading them through the carnage that was now Hawkins.

Max, Lucas & Erica

"Lucas," Erica sat down next to him on the step. The flashing red and blue lights of the ambulance illuminated his face in a rhythmic, haunting pattern. She had let him cry as they took Max's frail, broken body and load it onto the ambulance. She had waited for him as he collected the smashed cassette tape into his shaking hands, and followed him from the terrifying house that had started to collapse around them.

"Hey," she tried to get his attention, gripping her flashlight tightly. Her mind skipped like a broken record, her arms were sore and she felt like she had been shoved into her mom's washing machine on a spin cycle. She surprisingly didn't feel an ounce of remorse for Jason, rotting in the attic.

The football player had come out of nowhere, Erica could still feel the pure terror coursing through her when she realized she wasn't fast enough to escape him. Her hand gripped the flashlight tighter as she brought it to her chest. Lucas still sat, his eyes hollow as he stared forward into the void, Hawkins was trembling beneath them but no matter what she did. He just stared.

"I don't think it's very smart to stay here," she whispered trying to get him to snap from his trance.

His screams echoed through her. Erica help me. She had hated that, for every time he had ever said her name in annoyance, anger, or frustration. She wished she had never heard him cry her name in sheer agony. Especially knowing there was nothing she could do but run. And she had, she ran until she found help, out of breath and crying. She ran until her legs screamed in pain, her shins burning and her lungs collapsed. She had run until she found help.

"Lucas," she snapped but still nothing.

Just as she was ready to try screaming she heard a growing sound of footfalls coming from down the street. Erica stood, her hand shuddering she held out the flashlight, the beam of light trembling against the dark concrete as the ambulance pulled away.

"Lucas, come on," she prayed, hoping if she truly needed his help he would snap from this useless void-like trance. "LUCAS!" she bellowed at him. "God, you're such a jerk!" Erica screamed, her knees knocking together as the footsteps grew louder. She grabbed a piece of wood that had splintered from the wreckage of Creel House and held it above her head.

"Whoa, whoa Sinclair, weapons down." Steve hollered as they came into view.

"Why would you scare a little girl like that? An announcement would have been nice. 'Hey Erica it's us the Nerd Pack," she sighed throwing the wood to the ground along with what was left of her peppy attitude.

"Good to see you too," Steve extended a bloody hand for a fist bump.

"Ew," she looked at him disgusted, a small laugh falling from his lips. "Where's the metal head?"

Steve shook his head, looking back at Dustin who was limping along, gripping Robin and avoiding eye contact with the rest of them. "What happened?" Steve asked, taking a strangled breath of air and shifting off his sensitive side.

"Jason," Lucas finally spoke. Erica just about slapped him, oh now you speak. "He found us," he swallowed hard, looking up to Steve with glass eyes. "He thought we had put a spell on Max, that Eddie..." Lucas slowed looking around, counting them carefully as tears marked his dark, dirty face. "We fought and he stepped on her walkman. I couldn't save her," Lucas' voice cracked. "All her bones snapped, I can't stop hearing the noise." Erica watched as her brother recounted the nightmare. "And then she fell, I-" he put his head into his hands, tears wracked his body causing his shoulders to heave. "She was screaming, Steve. She didn't want to die."

Lucas paused, looking up at them again. "Eleven was there, I could feel her. She was there with Max when she went cold and then..." he rambled on, his muffled cries ringing through the ashy sky. "I felt her, she came back to me but I couldn't fix it."

"Sinclair," Steve's voice was low and commanding, even Erica was willing to listen to what he had to say for the first time in her life. "Look at me," he demanded and threw his head back with a huff when Lucas didn't listen. "You did what you could," he said. "Blaming yourself for what happened doesn't change anything, this is the last quarter Sinclair and Max need you to take that shot. I can't take it for you, so tie your damn shoes and get off the bench."

"I can't," he whispered, "what do I say to her? I-" Lucas whimpered, Steve put his hand on his shoulder.

"You don't say anything, get up and go to the hospital. And you wait, you don't leave her side until she comes back to us. That's where you need to be. That's where mac needs you. Come on," he extended a hand to help him off the step. "We'll all go."

"Steve?" Lucas mumbled, he looked down at him and waited. "I let her down."

"No man, don't carry that. It's not your burden you're just a kid," Erica heard the pain in Steve's voice as he pulled him from the ground and clapped his hands on his shoulders. "Alright, let's go." Harrington pushed Lucas down the street, clutching his stomach and urging the woman along. He slowed to trade places with Robin but Dustin wouldn't let go of her.

"We're ok," Robin cooed, uncharacteristically quiet.

"Hey goldilocks," Erica said, looking back at Steve from where she walked with Lucas. "Good job."

Steve nodded at her, a sad scowl on his face. Nancy fell back to walk beside him, the six of them slowly marching down the street towards main Hawkins. They just needed to get to the hospital, then Erica could call their parents and feel safe again, even just for a second.

"Hey," Nancy's worried voice traveled over them, "Hey... hey! Steve? Steve!" she yelled, followed by the sound of a body hitting the ground. All of them turned, looking at each other watching Nancy push his hair back off his forehead, checking for bleeding. Erica clicked on her flashlight and moved over to where Nancy hovered above him. Her hands trailed his body, unzipping the heavy bomber jacket and lifting his shirt to expose his bruised and bleeding skin. Erica gagged at the sight of his white flesh, flecked and stained purple, yellow, and green. Blood smeared over his stomach, Erica shined the flashlight as Nancy inspected the nasty, reopened wound.

"Lucas, I need you to help me!" Lucas turned heel and booked it back to Nancy, helping her pull him from the ground and positioning themselves under his arms. "We have to get him to the hospital," she looked at all of them, her lip trembling as she lifted her blood-soaked hand from his stomach.

Pt 2 & 3 coming soon

[blitheringmcgonagall]

Ahsbejsnfjr Mia!!!! CONGRATULATIONS!!!!!!

I'm so Happy for you :)))) 💛💛💛😁😁😁😀😀😀🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗

Anyways can I get Sirius and Lily brotp please......💛💛💛

You can't tell me she wasn't bestie with Sirius before James. They are so amazing!!!!!!

@secretsongdeer thank you!!!  to celebrate a very exciting/big reader milestone of We Can Be Heroes on fanfic.net (I still can’t get over it, I much prefer ao3 but anyway!), I asked for prompts and so... Okay so this got out of control and ended up being more that just Blackevans brotp but I hope you like it...

   Prongs, what did you do?

 “I hate men!” Lily said, flinging her bag onto the floor of the Gryffindor common room and throwing herself onto the sofa.

Sirius Black, who was already seated on said sofa and had been pretending to read when she came in, looked up briefly, raising his left eyebrow.

“What?” said Lily.

“I am a man, Evans,” he said.

“And?” Lily said, sending him a petulant scowl.

“Oh, it’s like that, is it?” Sirius said, trying not to smile as he went back to pretending to read said book.

“Very like that,” she said, sliding down the sofa and crossing her arms in front of her chest.

“Any particular chap bothering you today?” he asked lightly.

“I told you, all of them!” Lily said, rolling her eyes at him.

“All of them in particular?” Sirius asked.

“Well... I can’t tell you about one of them,” she said, kicking her foot against the low footstool.

That had to be Snape. Sirius made a mental note to hex the bastard as soon as the opportunity arose.

“And?”

“I can’t tell you about the other two either,” Lily said, throwing her head back against the cushion and sighing again.

Snape’s friends. The six mini Death-Eaters Snape hung around with could all do with additional hexing, the bigoted bastards. He clenched his jaw.

“And?” he said.

“And your stupid, infuriating friend!” Lily said, looking up at him again and glaring.

Her emerald eyes were utterly beautiful, but most people found them scary as fuck when she was angry.

Sirius Black was not most people. He knew Lily Evans like the back of his hand. This was only a recent and rather startling discovery.

“Ah, Prongs?” he said, failing to keep a straight face. “What’s he done this time?”

“He’s...”

“Yes?”

“He’s... well, if you must know, it’s more a case of what he hasn’t done!” Lily scowled.

“You’ve lost me there,” Sirius said, putting down his book and turning towards her. “Evans?”

“Black.”

“I’m notoriously impatient.”

“That’s not a virtue, and you need to work on it,” Lily huffed.

“Duly noted,” Sirius grinned. “You’re pretty impatient too, by the way, old thing.”

“So?”

“So, à propos de rien, what did Prongs do?”

“French doesn’t suit you, Black.”

“I think it does, actually,” Sirius said, flicking his hair and settling back into the couch more comfortably.

Lily glanced up at him briefly.

“Oh fine. I’ll allow that.”

“I’m always right,” Sirius said, with a smug grin.

Lily gave him an exaggerated eye roll.

“Name once!” she snorted.

“I said you fancied Prongs and I was right,” Sirius said, casually biting into the apple he had been holding in his right hand.

Lily’s cheeks infused prettily.

“You’ve literally never said that!” she yelped.

“I did just now, Evans,” Sirius said smoothly. “And I was right.”

Lily opened her mouth to protest and then closed it.

“Kneazle got your tongue, old thing?” Sirius said, grey eyes sparkling.

“Fuck off!” Lily said, jabbing his shin with her foot.

Sirius folded his arms and stared back.

“I can’t believe I’m telling you this!” Lily said, covering her face with her hands and groaning dramatically. “If you tell him, I swear to-“

“My lips are sealed,” Sirius replied, taking another bite of his apple. “Do tell!”

“I’m going to die of-“ Lily said, still hiding behind her hands.

“High stakes. Sounds like Prongs,” said Sirius, taking another bite.

“Listen, you’d have lost it too if you have just worked up the courage to ask Remus out and another person beat you to it at the last minute!” Lily said, flinging herself back against the armrest with force. “Two seconds ahead of me! Two bloody seconds!”

“What?” said Sirius, looking mortified, and pointedly ignoring the reference to one of his best friends.

“James, Prongs, whatever you call the useless, dorky git.”

“He didn’t say yes though, surely?” said Sirius, who still seemed a bit flummoxed.

“Didn’t he?” Lily said, her voice rising. “Desdemona asked him to go to Hogsmeade on a date. He said, and I’m quoting here, thanks very much that’s so kind of you I’d love to go only in his stupid polite voice.”

Sirius winced.

“And?”

“And?” said Lily, cheeks bright red at this stage. “And then she said oh James, that’s, like, so amazing? I’m going to, like, die of happiness? I can’t wait to, like, tell all my friends, they’re actually, I’m not going to lie, going to scream?” Lily said, putting on a highly convincing version of a snooty pureblood accent. “And then she kissed his cheek and ran off! He stood there, like a deer caught in the headlights! And she’s not horrible or anything, she’s actually quite nice despite her snobby voice, and very attractive to boot, and I’m just being mean and-“

“Fucking hell!” Sirius said, staring at Lily. “What the fuck was he thinking?”

“I know, right?” Lily glared. “Tosser!”

“Blithering idiot!” said Sirius, growling.

“Stupid git!” Lily added.

“Wanker!” said Sirius.

“Gobshite,” Lily said.

“Merlin’s sake, man!” said Sirius.

“Well at least we’re on the same page,” said Lily, shooting Sirius a small smile.

“Blindingly incompetent...” said Sirius.

“Incompetent what?”

“Incompetent flirt? He’s meant to be asking you out?”

“He is?” Said Lily, staring at him in confusion.

“Hand on, when did this happen?”

“A few minutes ago.”

“Merlin, fuck!” Said Sirius, pacing up and down in front of the fireplace. “He’ll come flying in through that door in the next few seconds, Evans, mark my words, so you need to leg it upstairs and let me handle him, alright?”

“Is that wise?” Lily asked, biting her lip.

Sirius stopped pacing and stared at her momentarily.

“Well. I’d say wise would be pushing it,” he said. “but still preferable to your future husband pulling a Prongs.”

Lily raised her right eyebrow.

“Fucking it all up monumentally,” said Sirius, resuming his pacing. “I shall fix this, old girl, leave it to me.”

“What have I done,” groaned Lily as she hurried upstairs.

 3333333333333

 The door of the Gryffindor common room flew open and James Potter stormed inside.

“Spot of bother with the fairer sex, Prongs?” Sirius said, lounging against the mantelpiece looking suave and sophisticated.

“Why, Padfoot?” James said, slamming the door so hard that the Fat Lady shrieked in fright. “Why is this happening to me, eh? What the ever-living fuck am I meant to do now, eh?”

“Prongs, care to enlighten me as to why the fuck you said you’d go on a date to Hogsmeade with Desdemona Demelza de Mimsy-Porpington?” said Sirius, his voice hard as steel.

James glared back at him and then threw his arms into the air helplessly.

“I have no idea, Padfoot! Literally no idea what possessed me, okay? I’m disgusted at my absolute barminess! It’s like I can’t be rude to a girl and then I can’t tell her she’s wrong either? I’m a disaster, Padfoot! A walking disaster area!”

“I agree. Your idiocy has risen to stratospheric heights, Prongs,” Sirius said, folding his arms crossly. “! just had Evans in here, in literal tears, all your doing!”

“In tears?” Said James, looking appalled and tuggi8ng at his hair with both his hands.

“Howling,” confirmed Sirius.

“Merlin’s tits!” Said James, turning white. “Do you think I-“

“I think your mother shall hear about this,” said Sirius primly, pursing his mouth shut and shaking his head with a disappointed sigh.

“What!” James shouted, looking horrified. “You are not telling mum, Sirius Black, you traitorous turd! It wasn’t my fault! I didn’t mean to-“

“All you have to do is ask the damned girl out, Prongs, it’s not exactly rock ’n’ science.”

“Rock ’n’ what? Oi! Now listen here, you little shit! I won’t have you chastising me like a bloody two-year-old when you are literally doing the exact same thing when it comes to Moony!”

Sirius’ elbow promptly slipped off the mantelpiece.

“Ouch!” He yelped, digging his elbow into his side. “What the fuck is that meant to mean!”

“Oh don’t you try this palaver on me, Padfoot! I damn well know you’ve had the hots for Moony for at least the last six months, and you’ve done fuck all about it, so don’t get on your high horse and-“

“What?” Sirius croaked, his voice shrill with fear. “I haven’t ever-“

“Oh shut up, Pads! I’ve had to listen to all sorts of Godforsaken moans coming from your bed as you call out Moony’s name. Darling Moony! Remus yes! Moony don’t stop!”

“What?” Sirius is now white as a sheet. “B-but I put up silencing charms every single night?”

“Yeah, about that, you never learnt how to cast a very effective silencing charm, mate. Which was fine, I covered for you, until you started mouthing off this gross stuff about Moony. I sent a remedial charm so don’t worry, Remus didn’t hear you mooning over him. He just thinks you are obsessed with Benjy now.”

Sirius stared at him, momentarily speechless.

“Excuse me?” he croaked. “He what?”

“Yes, well, I may have charmed your voice to say Benjy every time you said the word Moony or Remus,” James said, not looking at all apologetic.

“What? Why? Why would you do that?” said Sirius, looking at James with abject horror.

“Because I was sick of you both! Useless gits!” said James. “You’re both besotted and doing fuck all about it!”

“Fuck all? I’ll have you know, you may not have noticed, but I’ve been flirting my arse off with Moony for MONTHS now Prongs, months! And where has that got me? Nowhere! I don’t think I could be any more bloody obvious!” Sirius said, looking affronted.

“Don’t be ridiculous! You and I may think it’s obnoxiously obvious you fancy him when you send him  origami notes telling him stuff like Can I have your picture so I can show Santa what I want for Christmas? Or even Guess what's on the menu? Me-n-u, but Moony,” said James.

“But Moony what?” said Sirius, looking frazzled. “What the fuck could he possible think that relates to?”

“I bet he thinks you’re joking around, old chap,” said James calmly. “I did at the start.”

“Merlin, what the hell could he possibly think when I said Here I am. What are your other two wishes?” said Sirius.

“It’s Moony we’re talking about, not an ounce of sense in him when it comes to you, Padfoot!”

“He doesn’t like me!” said Sirius, his voice rising. “The time I sent him that note saying Are you French? Because Eiffel for you, do you know what he did? He turned around and told me, and I quote here, You’re a fucking idiot!”

“Merlin’s tits, Sirius!” shouted James, grabbing a hold of Sirius’ shirt collar. “That’s Moony’s way of flirting with you, you imbecile!”

“What?” said Sirius, eyes as wide as saucers.

“You’re blind!” said James heatedly.

“But how the fuck does Moony thinking I fancy the pants off Benjy help me?” Sirius said, grabbing a hold of James’ Quidditch top in turn and shaking him.

The door of the Gryffindor common room burst open once more. Remus Lupin stood there, eyes narrowed, lip curled, fists clenched, looking as though he planned on taking on every single wannabe Death-Eater in Hogwarts at once and could easily beat them. Sirius drew in a short breath, suddenly aware he was standing very close to James.

“Pray continue, don’t let my presence interrupt the snogging session you two had planned there,” Remus said, in a voice so icy that the dripping disdain had solidified.

“This is how it helps,” said James pleasantly, beaming at Sirius proudly.

“Oh fuck,” whispered Sirius. “Prongs, what did you do?”

If you liked it I can finish it??? It’s basically Jily & Wolfstar both oblivious idiots with wingmates Padfoot & Prongs (major Jily & Wolfstar shippers respectively) to the, ahem, (supposed) rescue....

[averytiredfanfictionwriter]

The Immortals- Chapter Four

Chapter four is here and I hope you guys are as excited about it as I am. I’m starting to delve into a little bit of the background information for some of the characters and give a little bit more of their history before I really get into the DSMP events because I might change them just a little bit for the direction I’m planning on taking the story, so in order to do that I feel it’s important you know more about the characters. I hope you guys enjoy. Trigger Warnings: None that I can see, but comment if you think one should be added. Ao3 link: bop. Also, if you check my Ao3, the chapter is usually posted a day ahead Chapter Three and a half | Chapter Five | Masterlist Also, for context Phil is maybe like five or Six years old. His age doesn’t really matter, all that’s important to know is that he’s a small child.

Ash wakes in an unfamiliar bed, her head pounding as she looks around the dimly lit room. It’s comfortable looking, bookshelves line the dark oak walls and a small rug covers the majority of the open floor space. A small desk and chair sits in the corner next to a window, which she has a perfect view out of from the bed. Overall, it’s nice. Too nice.

Listening carefully, she searches for any sounds in the surrounding area, any faint clicking that might indicate redstone usage. But there’s nothing. She can’t help but feel on edge though.

The last thing she remembers is being pulled up onto a horse with somebody, and the green cloak that was wrapped around her lies on the chair next to the bed. She looks over at it, the cause of the sense of familiarity right on the tip of her tongue but she's unable to actually remember it. 

At least, that is until the man himself steps through the door to the bedroom, shutting it softly behind him and taking a seat in the chair after moving the cloak onto the bed at Ash's feet.

“How are you feeling?” His green eyes are still every bit as entrancing as she remembers them to be, and she shakes her head to clear herself of the intrusive thoughts that threaten to invade her mind.

“Not great, but I’ll live.” After traveling for so long, the weariness and tiredness have finally caught up to her, and she wishes for nothing more than to fall asleep for a couple hundred years.

“Ah, well. I made food. It’s downstairs, if you feel good enough to walk. I can bring it up here if not.” Dream replies, brushing the blonde hair out of his face with an air of annoyance.

“I think I can make the walk.” She replies, pushing the blanket off her legs and stepping down onto the carpet. 

Dream stands and holds his hands above her arm, ready to catch her incase she falls. Slowly but surely, she makes her way across the room, wings tucked close into her body so as not to knock anything over on the way through the house. 

“So what are you doing here? Last time I saw you, I thought you had died.” The memories rush back to her as she makes her way down the stairs with the man she thought she’d lost forever.

The young child starts crying yet again as Ash and Dream continue marching through the dark woods. Dream grits his teeth, his fist clenching around the handle of his sword. 

“He’s going to get us killed.” The man growls, watching as Ash picks up the child and cradles him against her chest trying to comfort him.

“He’s a kid and he’s scared.” Ash says with a frown.

Dream laughs. “Yeah, and he’s going to get us killed in here. Hell, he’s the reason we’re down here anyways. It was too dangerous to take him above ground- the humans would hear him or see him and then come running after us. We came down here to keep him safe because you’re so insistent on saving him but we can’t do that if we’re dead as well!” Dream yells out, the kids cries quieting and leaving Ash silent. “We have to either get rid of him or find a way to keep him quiet.”

The last sentence is monotonous, indifferent, but it holds malicious undertones and Ash shivers at the connotations his words have.

“We’re not killing him.”

“Then make him be quiet. Or I’ll leave you both here.” He hisses out, turning and continuing down the path, green eyes scanning the shadows for enemies that might be lurking in the darkness.

“Hey, Phil, I need you to do something for me, okay.” The boy nods. “I need you to be really quiet. No matter what you see or hear, I need you to stay silent for me. Can you do that?” The boy nods again.

“Good. Now, let’s go.” Ash holds the boy in her arms and follows after Dream, the kids sniffling the only sound between them. 

It’s impossible to tell the passage of time in the cave, but all Ash knows is that they’ve been walking forever, and she’s about to pass out. 

“Dream… I need… to stop… for…” She tries to finish the sentence but falls to the ground, dropping her sword next to her. 

Phil tugs on her shirt, the fear of being alone in the dark washing over him.

“Shit.” Dream says, dropping next to her on the ground and scanning their surroundings. To be honest, Dream hadn’t expected to walk as long as they did, the cave ended up being larger than he thought. 

“C’mon Ash, you need to wake up.” He uncorks a potion from his bag, one that he hoped was a regeneration potion, the light pink liquid iridescent in the light as he pours a little into the young woman’s mouth.

Phil stands by silently, remembering the promise he made but wanting nothing more than to burst into tears at the sight of the woman- who’s pretty much become his mom in the past few weeks they’ve been together- passing out. Much to the surprise of Dream, the young boy clutches onto his arm, face buried into the cloak that he wears around himself. Their relationship is… rocky, to say the least. The constant glares thrown towards Phil haven’t exactly helped them in developing a healthy relationship. The young boy doesn’t often go to Dream for things, only when Ash is busy does Phil ask Dream for anything.

After a long few minutes, Ash wakes back up, energy somewhat restored- Dream hopes it’s enough to make it through the rest of the cave and out of it. 

“Ash!” Phil cries out, grabbing onto her tightly.

“Hey Phil, it’s okay. I’m okay.” She says, looking up at Dream.

“We need to keep going. It’s not safe to sleep down here. Do you think you can make it the rest of the way or do you need more of the potion?” He asks and helps her to her feet, brushing the dust off the smooth wings on her back.

“I should be able to make it. But you’re right, we need to hurry. I don’t like the silence.” And that’s when it dawns on Dream that the forest has in fact fallen completely silent. Not even the trees rustle.

“Take Phil and fly to the exit. I’ll catch up. You need to get him out and away from here.” He mumbles.

“No. I’m not leaving you here. It’s not safe to be alone.” She protests.

“We’re immortal- but he’s not. If you want to save him, then you need to get him out of here. Not only am I a much better fighter, but you can fly him out of here. I’ll hold off whatever’s coming while you escape.” He says, sword glistening in the low light.

“I-”

“Just fucking go!” Dream yells, as one of the creatures they’ve been trying to avoid the whole time bursts out of the tree line and the group goes silent.

It towers over the trio, more than 9 feet tall. Tentacles waves off it’s chest, a huge gaping mouth in its chest. The blood drains out of Ash’s face and Phil takes one look at it before he starts wailing, screams echoing off the cave walls in all directions. The creature goes berserk, the tentacles waving all over the place and a shrill screech leaves it’s face, whether there’s a mouth there or not is yet to be determined.

Ash yanks Phil up into her arms and takes off into the air, narrowly avoiding the creatures’ long arms. Ash flies in the direction they were walking, really hoping there’s no more of those things and an exit to this horrible place. Soon, sunlight becomes visible and she flies out of the cave, breathing in deep breaths as the two land on the ground a little ways away. 

“I need to go back and get him, but I can’t leave you here alone. I also can’t take you back with me.” Ash mumbles, looking between the cave exit and the crying boy in front of her.

Suddenly, a loud scream comes from the cave and then there’s silence. The air seems to stand still as the dreadful truth sets in. Dream is gone.

“Yeah, well me and you can’t die. To be honest, I thought I had as well. I only entered a deep sleep while my body recovered from the damage it took. When I woke, I was back in the first house we’d had. The mortals had burnt it down after we left, but I guess I was still tied to the house. I tried to make my way back to that cave to try and find you guys, but the two of you were long gone by the time I got back. I thought you were captured or continued on, so I started looking for the immortal children safe houses to see if you’d gone there. When I couldn’t find you, I assumed the worst and then went a little crazy after that but now you’re back here with me so neither of us have to worry anymore.” Dream explains and Ash shivers. Any monster too powerful for even Dream to defeat is not a monster she wants to face.

“So where is here, exactly?” Ash asks.

“Outside a small country I’d established with a few other immortals and hybrids, as well as some mortals that I found out I could trust. You’ll like it here.” Dream says, a small smile on his face as he pulls out a chair at the kitchen table for her to sit.

“Um, yeah. About that. Techno won’t like that. He’s not too big on, uh, governments.” She whispers, and Dream only nods.

“Well, it’s not like he can do anything about it, considering neither of you are in any state to fight against anyone right now. You especially. So, now that I’ve told you what I’ve been up to, what about you? What have you been doing the past 300 years?” Dream asks, setting the food on the table in front of her and taking a seat across from her.

“That’s a very long story.” She mumbles, taking a bite of food.

“Well, it would appear that we have all the time in the world.” Dream jokes and Ash laughs a little.

“Okay, well. After me and you had gotten separated at the cave…”

[the-evil-authoress]

GX Month Day 2: “Soul Exchange”

Ever wondered what would happen if Jaden/Judai and Chazz/Manjoume switched bodies? Or if Syrus/Sho was the protagonist instead? Get weird today with body swap and role swap shenanigans!

They all jump at the explosion that shakes the hallway, rushing into the adjacent room to find Jaden and Chazz coughing in a colorful cloud of smoke.

“I told you not to touch it!” Jaden snaps.

“I didn’t know it was going to explode!” Chazz wines.

Both boys look up at each other and freeze, expression quickly morphing into shock and horror.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?!” Jaden screams, hitting a particularly high octave that Alexis did not previously know Jaden could reach, while Chazz merely stares at his arms as if seeing them for the first time. He sniffs his own armpit and cringes.

“When was the last time you showered?”

“DID YOU JUST SNIFF ME?”

Oh no.

“Oh my Ra!” Christina’s hands come up to her mouth as a near hysterical giggle bursts forth, and Alexis does not like the sound of any of this.

“Um, what?” Syrus stares on in blissful confusion as the two boys continue to bicker.

“Stop screaming. You’re gonna make me go horse.”

“I’LL SCREAM ALL I WANT! WHAT IF WE’RE STUCK LIKE THIS?”

“Is that why your voice is always so scratchy?”

“THAT’S THE QUESTION YOU CHOOSE TO FOCUS ON?!”

Alexis swallows. “Jaden.” Chazz’s head swivels toward her and confirms her suspicions as Jaden’s trademark smile breaks across his face.

“Lexi!”

“DON’T MAKE THAT EXPRESSION WITH MY FACE!” Jaden - or rather Chazz - screams.

“Stop screaming with my voice,” Jaden casually slings back. There are so many things wrong with this situation Alexis can’t even count them.

“Oh no,” Syrus moans as he finally catches on.

Christina is still laughing, or rather wheezing as she seems to have run out of air. “Please, breathe,” Alexis beseeches. “I don’t need to deal with a body on top of this.” It has the opposite effect as Christina slumps against the wall damn near spasming silently. Alexis turns to the only other sane person in this friend group.

Bastion grimaces. “Perhaps we should seek help from Professor Banner.”

*

“FIX IT!” Chazz screams, slamming Jaden’s hands down on Professor Banner’s desk. To his credit, Banner only peers at Chazz over the rim of his glasses and smiles.

“Ah, Jaden. What can I help you with?”

“I’M NOT JADEN! HE IS!” Chazz jabs a finger at his own body and, to no one’s surprise, Banner only tilts his head in visible confusion.

“They were looking at your alchemy equipment, sir,” Bastion says as Christina sputters into a fresh round of giggles. “I tried to stop them.”

“Oh.” Banner’s entire expression changes as he stands and moves around his desk to regard the boys. “And you say you’ve switched bodies?”

“Yes! Now fix it!” Chazz snaps.

Banner hums thoughtfully. “I’ll need to know which substances caused this before I can create something to reverse the effect.”

“How long will that take?” Syrus ventures to ask.

Banner shrugs. “Maybe a day, maybe a week. It really depends.”

“A week? A WEEK?” Chazz hollers. “I COULD BE STUCK AS THIS SLACKER FOR A WEEK?”

“Alchemy is a delicate process, Chazz,” Banner says, his calm unwavering even when faced with Chazz’s rage.

“HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO GO TO CLASS LIKE THIS?”

“Maybe this will teach you not to go snooping through other’s belongings.”

“MAYBE YOU SHOULDN’T LEAVE THAT SHIT OUT IN THE OPEN!”

Banner glances off thoughtfully, a hand to his chin. “Hm...or will it take two weeks?”

A scandalized noise. “YOU WOULDN’T.”

“Or maybe three? Yes, I think three,” Banner says as Chazz opens Jaden’s mouth to protest once more. The scream dies somewhere in the back of Jaden’s throat, producing only a shrill squeak as Chazz finally slumps in angry defeat. “Well, then!” Banner claps his hands with a cheery smile. “Let’s go see the mess you’ve made of my lab.”

*

Banner does manage to figure out which concoctions caused the current fiasco, his expressions darkening as he hems and haws before shooing them out with a promise that he’ll fetch them once he has a solution to try. With nothing else to do, Syrus makes the trek back to the Red Dorm with his roommates.

Chumley actually screams when Jaden bursts in with his normal gusto in Chazz’s body.

“Hey, it’s me, it’s me!” Jaden waves his new hands frantically before seeming to remember his predicament. “Oh. Damnit. We need to figure something out about this.” He scrunches Chazz’s face up in thought before it lights up again. “Hey, Chazz, switch jackets with me!”

“Excuse you! Hands off!” Chazz elbows the other as Jaden tugs the red jacket from his shoulders.

“It’s my body!”

“That doesn’t mean I want to be touching it!”

“We’ll you’re going to be touching it. Showers are a thing!”

“That sounded so wrong...” Syrus groans as a bewildered Chumley turns to him for guidance while the other two continue to bicker as Jaden wrestles his jacket off his own shoulders then tosses the black one at Chazz. “They got into Banner’s alchemy stuff and switched bodies. Banner’s looking for a way to undo it.” Syrus flops into the desk chair. Can today be over already?

“Ta da! See, it’s me!” Jaden proclaims, now sporting the red jacket over the rest of Chazz’s clothing. Grumbling, Chazz pulls the black trench coat over Jaden’s shoulders.

Chumley cringes. “Okay, Jaden actually looks good in black, but Chazz looks horrible in red.”

Chazz squawks indignantly while Jaden only laughs. “Good thing I never cared about what I look like.”

“You’re not the one who has to worry about it! And stop smiling with my face! It’s creepy!”

Looking away from their bickering friends, Chumley asks Syrus, “Did Prof Banner say how long it would take?”

“Up to a week,” Syrus groans, staring at the ceiling and wishing for it to come crashing down if only to end his suffering.

Chumley looks back at Jaden and Chazz. “This is going to be a long week.”

[whump-town]

In The Woods Somewhere

Warning: country shit, you know? they kill a coyote...

this is just one long ass metaphor so...

Her scream pierces the warmth of the late autumn afternoon. Above her lazy ravens ascend to the sky, puffing little irritated calls to one another as they move away from the screeching child. At the commotion, the woods themselves seem to shift, annoyed with the agony-laced sound. Old tree branches splintering and the soft, unsatisfied chatter of life deep within.

She is seven, standing where the branches reach with hungry fingers out to her. Where her father tells her their property ends. The threat of what happens to curious children who trespass in the woods hums deeply in her veins. She’s drawn to the memory of the boy they found in the river last summer and standing around the campfire. Leaning into her father’s leg as he told stories about the beasts deep in the woods. Murderous, lustful things that will take carelessly. Going on even when her mother had hummed disapprovingly warning him with the simple mumble of his first name.

He’d turned to her hushed and high on the same adrenaline bucking her knees out from underneath her body. Foxes and Coyotes, he’d told her, they deceive the woods for what they truly are. “Smaller than what you think,” Roy whispered, smiling as she pressed closer. Curious but afraid, seeking his warmth as much as his comfort but begging for more. “Look like a wolf, you’ve seen a wolf haven’t you? Coyotes look an awful lot like them but brown and they’re ravenous little bastards.” There’s an intelligent glint to their eyes, unmistakable and haunting. It’s easier to conceive nature as consuming and destroying. But it’s simply untrue and to find yourself standing face-to-face with it is a daunting, demeaning task. To see in nature’s eye your own insignificance.

She hadn’t understood that word, ravenous, but had heard her father shout out into the field something about bastards before to know it was not good. He’d never meant it as any sort of compliment. He’d taken her hand a few nights later, guided her out to the porch, and held her skinny body against him. Shushed her when she’d tried to ask him what they were doing, trusting him blindly as a child does, but fearful of the depths of the night spread out before her. The clear sky above their heads hidden by the roof so she’d held him a little tighter. Heart pounding in her chest.

The first sounds just like a dog, her head swivels to identify exactly where it’s coming from. The second is shrill, sends a shiver down her spine and her fingers tighten on Roy’s shirt. It makes the hairs on her body stand tall, rocking her thin limbs in shivers. More erupt, some sounding so close she fears the creatures the sound emits from could snap and grasp her in its jaw from here.

“Coyotes,” her father rumbles, she can hear the smile in his voice.

They howl on and off, their presence so near. Feverish, she can feel it and knows there’s an untold but not inherently unused threat in animals that lurk just past the extension of the porch steps.

Despite the rolling cool air of September washing over Virginia, Haley is out in the backyard letting the sweater her mother had tucked around her fall off her shoulders. Jessica’s old overalls too short for her long legs, making them perfect for afternoons spent rummaging about in the dirt and grass. Her bare feet stomping against the cool grass as she runs, eager to just be. To feel the wind snap against her cheeks and the plush grass give under her feet.

Something rattles on the far edge of the yard, too far for her to see from where she is. It makes her pulse jump, but not pound as it does now in her little chest. A bird caged between ribs, beating its wings against her insides to make her stomach tighten with apprehension. It does not sing out, does not warn her of the danger she encroaches upon.

When she finds the live, snarling and snapping, creature ensnared in the fence but she’s not sure what it is. The sounds it makes, teeth barred but all mixed signals as it puts weight on its injured side and whimpers softly. Only to meet her every cautious move with a throaty growl but her curiosity is piqued and her ability to perceive the threat is diminished by it.

The animal, the size of a dog, snaps at her. Barring stark white teeth, sharp canines, covered in its own blood. It hunches low, pulled up on its front legs enough to distract her from the bangled sight of its left hind leg. To pretend to be every bit of a threat that it might be if not wounded. It moves too much and she cries out again, flinching when it whimpers as it falls limply back to the ground. Struggling to pull itself back up. The animal stills, laying on its side and heaving deep breathes.

That’s when she sees the blood.

She screams, oblivious to the ravens that take to the sky, black against the oranges of the sunset.

She’s played along this fence a thousand times, knows to not mess with it. The barbed wire won’t hurt her, Roy had struggled to explain this but she’d understood, in the end, that if she messed with it unnecessarily it could. Its intent is to keep the cows in the neighbor’s yard from wandering into theirs. She’d watched the cows brush up against the edges, scratching themselves against the edges that would tear through her pale, thin skin.

She’d touched the edges and, while they’re not inherently blade-like, she’d still marveled at how sharp they are. That was the end of it. But now she looks at the wounded animal at her mercy, succumbing to its fate be whatever it is. Sees the wire fence wrapped around the animal’s leg. The serrated flesh caused by the barbs and where the animal had been half-successful in chewing through its leg.

“Haley!” Roy runs to her, pulling her away from the animal but her eyes stay glued to it. The way it struggles to lift itself up to snap at the new threat, to bare its teeth and present itself as something it most certainly is not. Roy sighs when he speaks, placing his hands on his hips and shaking his head at the sight. “Nosing around where you shouldn’t have been,” Roy mumbles to it. He turns back to Haley, running the palm of his hand through his hair. “It’s just a coyote,” he explains, glancing back when the wounded animal falls back to the ground with a tired, pitiful snort.

“It’s hurt,” she says. She’s watching flies land on its back, moving over the blood. The wound is infected and the leg is useless. She knows what happens to lame animals. Feels the bird within her chest shake, beating against her lungs until they ache. “What are you going to do to it?” she asks but she already knows. Wild things aren’t tamed. They snip and bite no matter how you love them. She knows seeing the pink of the bones peeking through blood matted fur what her father will do but she’s blinded. She’s hopeful for this creature. Thinks of her kind father and the gentle way he bandages her wounds and knows he can save it. He can if he’ll only try

“Go back to the house,” Roy instructs

Haley shakes, “no.”

Roy turns around, caught off guard by the sudden conviction from his youngest daughter. The child that seems to follow him so blindly, her loyalty so deep it often scares him. But he remembers being her age, remembers looking at his father with that same look. Having curated this idea that he could save the world. It’s amazing to be on the receiving end of but it’s always a matter of time before every child learns the truth. That their fathers are just men. Horrible, awful men and feels a little light in him die. “Look away, Haley.”

She sees him reach for his belt, the belt he keeps on him while working outside. The only thing separating them from the creatures in the woods. She runs. Her feet hit the Earth hard and fast, screaming for her mother. Begging someone to see reason.

When the hammer strikes she falls as if the bullet has been lodged into her spine. Tears sting her eyes, pouring down her cheeks in rage, as she pulls herself back up. Her mother steps out onto the porch and Haley throws herself into her arms, sobbing and choking around the story. Missing details and so angry, so broken that he hadn’t even tried. Her father hadn’t even tried to help the coyote.

Her mother holds her, soothes her tears and they sit in the kitchen. Her sobs dissipating until she’s just hiccupping, face buried in her mother’s smooth skin. “Why didn’t he help the coyote?” she asks. Mothers always seem to hold the secrets of fathers and Haley knows this is no exception.

Her mother rubs her back, “sometimes, baby, no amount of help in the world can save something lost. Sometimes the only thing you can do is… mercy.” Her mother presses a kiss to her head, “daddy was showing the coyote mercy, Haley. That was compassionate. That was all he could do.”

She’d seen the blood on her father’s hands after he returned. Watched from the safe cocoon of her mother’s arms as he’d come in the kitchen door, letting it bang and clatter shut. “Daddy?” she hiccups. She presses closer to her mother, drowning out the memory of the snarl and hiss of the coyote with the sweet scents of her mother. Hoping the squeeze of her mother’s arms around her shaking body wrings her dry of the animal. “What did you do to him?”

Roy washes his hands, carefully working the blood off his skin and grunting to communicate he’s heard Haley but isn’t ready to respond. He doesn’t face his wife and child until he’s clean of it, the blood washed from his hands and from the sink. He dries his arms off slowly, taking his time to gather his response. Settling the back of his hips against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, he looks at his daughter. Sees the tear tracks drying on her cheeks and that look in her eyes. He knows all too well the importance that will be placed on his next few words, sees the glint of a core memory forming.

She’ll base worth and sense off his next words.

He crouches down in front of her, taking one of her soft, small hands in his own. “What comes from the woods, must be returned.” All things must be returned. It’s why people are buried or singed to ash, to be turned back into the Earth. The way that Roy had dragged that Coyote as deep into the woods, as far he dared. Such is the way of nature, all things that are taken must be compensated for, and with his fingers curled into the cool main of that limp coyote, Roy had thought of his too curious daughter. Of the way she’d find herself back to that mangled heap of twisted fencing, staring at the animal's congealed blood. The curdled darkened crimson left on the cleared dirt. How long until she searched further? Sought to find better answers to questions she can’t form coherently with her tongue, little legs driving her to the trees.

They always talk back, the trees, and Roy had known what they’d say. Knew they’d beckoned her into their depths. He’d taken from the woods and they would take from him. With a sigh, Roy places the worn skin of his palm on Haley’s pale cheek. “I took him home,” he whispers. “Even wild things have homes.”

She’s fourteen when she meets a boy who moves like the coyotes that trot through the yard. The ones her father shakes his head at and tells her must be sick, they shouldn’t be out in the light like this. That familiar glint in his eyes, the impulsivity of what comes next is unknown to both but his shoulders flex. Long thin limbs waiting for her to move first, to establish if he’ll run or fight. Not the sort to turn his back to her. He’s looking at the crosshairs aimed at his chest and he knows any sudden movement will be his last.

She’s fourteen and found another wild creature she’s convinced she can change.

Sees that pink marrow, the dark crimson pooling and weaving through the tall grass. The fencing wrapped tightly around his lame limb, his dark eyes looking back at her and waiting to find what she’ll do next. If she’ll cut him free, withstanding his snarled bites until he falls limp with exhaustion and defeat. Heaving those panting breaths. She’ll wrap him in a blanket and drag him home. Shush his whimpers while she bandages his wounds.

She should have done what her father had and put a bullet in his head while it was still soon enough to call it mercy. Dragged his tired, broken body to the woods. Do as her father had instructed all those years before and return him to the woods. To his home because that is not her.

She’s seventeen, screaming for her father. Another mangled thing bleeding out in the field in their backyard, propped up against that old fencing. His blood soaks into the neck of his t-shirt, the material hardening, as he sits there panting. She’d seen him coming, his tall figure working its way through the woods. From her bedroom window, she’d waved at him, getting up to go greet him. When she runs out onto the porch she throws the light on, her beaming smile dying as she’d searched for him.

Roy tears through his backyard for his daughter trying to find the danger his mind buzzes with. He’s not surprised to find Aaron cradled to her chest, face a swell of wounds.

“What do I do?” she asks. She’s too old, knows better than to ask him to handle the matter. She knows what he does to wounded things and she knows he sees Aaron for what he is. He’s beyond saving but that’s a lesson she’ll have to learn on her own. That he’s no different than the coyote, in this very field, that had chewed through its skin. It would have taken its own leg off to escape the fence. How far into the woods would it have made it? On three legs, losing blood, and fighting an infection. How long until infection won out? Until something bigger, something stronger clamped teeth to its neck. Mercy. Not for the hunt but mercy.

Her father and Aaron lock eyes, just as that old coyote had before her father shot it. They share a wordless conversation and Roy turns away, taking with him that coveted mercy.

She’s too innocent.

She’s too hopeful.

There is no mercy in her love and she drags his aching, dying body up to her room. Looks past the infection set into his heart and corrupting his mind. She sees life in something dying so painfully slow, unable or unwilling to see desperation.

She brushes the back of his fingers against Aaron’s nose, watches his lips twitch as he slips into a fitful sleep. Lips falling and jaw relaxing under her touch until his breath ghosts over her cheek. He inches closer, making soft little noises. Wounded, punched sounds as he searches for something in his sleep. Finding it in her, wrapping his arms over her hips and pressing his face closer to her own.

She feels him relax in her hold and closes her eyes.

She’s taken something from the woods, knows this thing that aches so openly against her breast is not hers to have. It is simply a matter of time before the woods call him back. Before he slithers back to his tree and she’s left with the bitter mouthful of their actions. A sweet thing to undertake but soured as they lay with it.

He’s a wild thing she thinks she can tame. She can file down his teeth but it’ll be too late when he hurts her. He’s too big and she’s small and you just can’t change a man like him. He’s going to hurt her, kill her, and by the time he realizes what he’s done, it’ll be too late.

[katsukikitten]

A/N look if you didnt even tear up. All I'm saying is I didnt do my job right.

Part 1 ××× Part 2 ×× Part 3

Bakugou sits at the long table in the dining room in his usual spot, Mei and Haru nod his way as others begin to file in. 

The children look a tad older than usual as they sit a bit straighter this year, Uncle Sozen seems to have aged over night as he sits to Bakugou's left. He offers a wide smile to which Bakugou returns.

"DADDY!! DADDY!" A shrill voice rings out, little feet slapping harshly against the hard wood as a little girl slams down into his lap. Ash blonde hair dutifully braided but coming loose from all of the horse play skillfully climbs onto his legs. 

She looks up at him with wide eyes that mirror your eye color. His heart melts as he smooths down some of her hair. 

"Where's your brother?" He asks softly before a young boy comes rushing in. Feet falling hard enough to shake the dishes at the table. Your hair and his burning ember eyes greet him with a shit eating grin. 

Neither could be older than six or seven. 

"Told you I'd find you!" He brings up a bright palm to slap his older sister only for his wrist to be grabbed by you.  Leveling him with a glare the child shrinks away. Trying to hide behind both his sister and father. Bakugou looks up at you, your fierce gaze, your glowing features and swollen belly. His heart melts, pooling in his stomach and threatening to dip lower still. He swallows thickly adding his own sharp voice to the mix. 

"Sit and behave." The children cling to Uncle Sozen or Aunt Mai. Climbing into their laps eager to be spoiled once more. Summer crickets echo into the dining hall before they are drowned out by both the thunder of the approaching summer storm and the roar of the dining table. 

Dinner goes on without a hitch. Happy conversation as Sobo takes it all in. She sits stick straight, her once silver hair long since turned moon white and adorned in her normal plain kimono. When dinner is over, everyone begins to clear the table, excited for tomorrow's birthday and celebration that is bound to take place. Bakugou goes to what has become his normal duty, standing by Sobo to help her up and back to her study. He knows she wants to see the moon flowers bloom. 

He is gentle with her now fragile stature, never able to forget how easily she wielded an old weapon on his first dinner at this estate. The thought makes him smile as they enter her study. He settles her onto her cushion, about to leave to finish clearing the table. But she doesn't let go so Bakugou sinks into the cushion beside her, the summer storm faded as quickly as it came and as the clouds clear  the closed tight buds slowly begin to unravel, mirrored moonlight nestled on delicate petals. Silence envelops the two as they stare at the beautiful metaphor that is the moon flower. Her grip tightens on his strong bicep.

"Thank you for humoring this old woman." Sobo breaks the silence causing scarlet eyes to slide to his elder. 

Except she no longer looks old, instead she looks young. As she did in the picture with All Might. Hair as dark as night and adorned in her crane kimono. Bakugou swallows thickly. 

"I'm glad you've made up your mind, mago."She smiles, squeezing tighter and somehow this feels more like a good bye than anything else. 

He doesn't like the feeling, he goes to open his mouth to ask what she means but lightning suddenly strikes outside. 

The thunder comes as the sound of the sliding door to your room. Bakugou lifts a palm glowing hot as an ember aimed at the figure who dared to enter in the early hours of the morning. 

Mei stands in the doorway disheveled as you slowly rise, you hold eye contact with Mei's watery eyes and just…know. 

You jump to your feet, throwing off the blanket as you rummage in your bag for any sort of clothing. Mismatched as you shove your body in the fabric as you head for the door. Sprinting down the hall as if called on a mission. Bakugou rises, noticing Mei's tear stained cheeks, questions are plastered all over his tired features. 

"Its...Sobo…" A hiccup leaves Mei's frame reminding Bakugou just how small and young she was, "She's...she's." 

"I'm glad you made up your mind, mago." 

It clicks as her voice echoes in his head from the dream, soles of his feet burning as he runs aimlessly through the estate until he finally finds where people are gathered. 

There was not a single dry eye as he huffs. 

"Where's…" He asks but Aunt Mai just points, clinging to Uncle Sozen who seems to be frozen in time. Bakugou slowly walks towards you as you sit with wide eyes. Clasping onto Sobo's cool hands. 

When he sinks down next to you is when he realizes that you're shaking. 

He fights his gut, to reach out for you, to pull him to you so you can cry to your heart's content but instead you look to great Oba. 

"I'll help sort her things. Please allow me a shower first." You say monotone, eyes glazed over and Bakugou isn't sure which would be worse. You unfeeling and cold or you crying until you were sick. 

Either way his heart was sure to split in two. Your eyes come back to Sobo. You lean in close, pressing a soft kiss to her fast cooling cheek. 

"I'm sorry we lied. Bakugou is barely my roommate Sobo." You whisper so lowly that even Katuski strains to hear you. 

You rise, trying to walk calmly out of the room. Telling yourself over and over that this was just a mission or worse yet just a nightmare and to allow yourself to feel an ounce of fear or grief would be your downfall. 

"Its all Uncle Shoji's fault! If he hadn't come and riled Sobo up or hadn't made that damned drug Sozen would have felt her vitals weaken." Haru yells, tears falling in fat droplets as he slides a forearm over his face.  You snap then, yelling as you reach for the first thing you can grab, a book that you hurl at your cousin as you scream. 

"SHE HAD AN ARRYTHMIA! WE CAN'T BLAME SHOJI FOR ALL OF OUR FAMILY'S FUCK UPS." 

The book hits Haku square in his face, a letter flutters from the yellowed pages before it slams onto the ground. 

All eyes watch the letter that's addressed in big bold letters. 

To my family. 

Eagerly you swoop for the letter, snatching onto the parchment and last tangible thing from your grandmother. You rise to your feet, eyes frantic as you look around the room. 

Bakugou knows that face, you're about to make a bad decision and before he can stop you you've set a harsh pace to follow. 

He rises and gives chase as does half of the younger generation. But none of them can keep up. 

No one but Bakugou, which you had expected. 

It would be more than easy enough to lose him in this house. 

Or maybe it wouldn't be so easy. With each turn he comes closer but you can't be caught yet. 

Whatever it is your grandmother has to say you know you have to read it first, but most importantly, alone. 

You want the chance to say goodbye and to grieve in private. 

You plan to lose him in the secret room in your grandmother's study rushing into it with just enough time to disappear. 

But suddenly you cannot, too overwhelmed by the sight of her favorite little room, decorated with all of her accomplishments but more importantly her family. Memories over lapping one another as you stand frozen. Bakugou bursts into the room, skin popping with heated explosions as he grabs for you. Grip gentle on your wrist. 

"We should go back." His voice is feather soft, as if he's scared you'll break and it makes you angry. 

It makes you sad. 

Because he's right, you will break. Now there was no one to look forward to seeing in your favorite season, no one to celebrate summer with. 

No one to lose horribly at Go to, no one to teach you the art of a deal and no one to explain the beauty in the world no matter how small and insignificant it seemed. 

Fat tears fall down your face as you cry like you never have before. Like you hadn't since you were a child. A small whine comes from your throat that has Bakugou's heart imploding, his brows furrowed as he reaches for your other wrist. Trying so hard to support you without making you feel weak. You push yourself into him, clutching at his shirt as his burning sugar and firework smell tingles your nose, summer incarnate.  He wraps his arms around you tightly, pushing you closer to him in an attempt to hold you together as best he can as you fall apart in his arms. 

"What are we gon..gonna do Katsuki?" You sob, shoving your face deeper into his chest, "H..How are we gon..gonna live without Sobo?" 

Bakugou's eyes sting from your defeat, staring out into the background as he thinks of anything he can say or do to help you, all he draws is a blank. He was the worst at shit like this! 

Movement catches his eye, a crane flies across the sky, his eyes fall to that damn plant noticing one final bloom persisting through the harsh morning sun.

"We aren't." He says, thinking of his dream, "She's always with us." 

His words bring you comfort, resolve forcing your back stick straight as you look him in the face. That odd magnetism between the two of you returns. Licking your lips you do the unthinkable, following your gut as you stand on your tippy toes to softly press your lips to his. 

"Thank you." A whisper, before stepping past him to face your family head on. 

The ash blonde stands in the study for a moment, reliving the feeling of your lips against his. Of the electricity that surged through his body harder than any shot Denki had ever taken at him before. 

The tips of his fingers brush over his lips, the bloom finally closing and he feels as if he sees a smile. 

&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&

He returns just in time to see the family all gathered around, you having finally settled the bunch. Breaking the wax seal of the letter. Eyes rimmed red, the ink blurring beneath your gaze but you needed to be okay, you needed to be strong. Someone was meant to read the letter outloud and today that someone was you. 

“To my loving family, if you’ve found this letter then I know what you all are going through. But I do not want you to shed tears over this little old woman. I have lived a long and wonderful life. Blessed with each of my children, and their children’s children. I want you all to celebrate my life and more importantly celebrate our family. As this is all we have and should treasure above all else. Life is hard enough as it is on our own so we must not forget where we come from and who truly supports our love and our dreams.  Surely there is no pain worse than hunger and loneliness, so eat with each other often to ease your troubles. One day Shoji will come back into our lives and I may not be around when that happens but when he does please welcome him back with open arms as we all can lose our way from time to time.  Let him join you all at the dinner table and help him to remember what family, what our family, is all about. Make sure that he eats  as I am sure he will be hungry and I know he will be lonely. Help him ease his pains, help guide him back onto the right path in life. I end this letter to remind you all how much I care and love for each and every one of you. Good things will come as does the crane that flies over the bloomed lotus. 

With all of my love, forever and for always I give to you,

Sobo.” 

Silence settles over the large estate with nothing more than sniffles and sobs echoing down the hall. Bakugou places his hand on your back, surprisingly having a hard time keeping his own eyes from watering. 

In such a short time he had made a friend, he made family. 

His skin burns through your shirt as tears fall from your cheeks, like a movie star. Eyes clouded, nose a bit red but eyes set hard. 

"Sobo was right. Family is all we have and we can all become misguided. I…." You look to the blonde, squaring your shoulders, "I lied. Bakugou is not my fiance. He isn't even my boyfriend. I lied for Sobo, thinking that this would make her happy. But now…now we must make things right." 

You pull an outdated iPhone from your pocket. 

"I found it after Shoji left. Maybe we can contact him and when he comes back…" Your voice is hard and yet threatening to crack all at once. Eyes roaming over your large family. 

"We will eat." Great Oba says, "Ladies, if you would prepare the food for celebration.  I will retire to her study and call friends and family. We will lay Sobo to rest when the sun sleeps and the moon rises." 

Everyone nods, wiping tears and comforting their children as they move to their duty. You give Bakugou a sympathetic look before rushing off to call uncle Shoji. 

Bakugou suddenly finds himself a bit aimless once again before the sharp bite of a matriarch's voice rings out. 

"Bakugou, you will come with me." Great Oba turns while Katsuki follows without question. 

A certain item weight extra heavy in his pants pocket. 

×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&

"Fuck!" Shoji growls for the thousandth time, unable to pack his things and leave the near by hotel. Finally he rises forcing himself to gather various items that he has half a mind to leave. 

Fresh tears pricking his eyes as he wishes that old bag would just….would just fucking love him. He knows he's the black sheep, the unwanted baby but still. 

He still is trying to live up to the image Sobo had of him. His phone rings and he answers it with a snobbish attitude, crying long gone from his voice. 

"What do you know, Princess figured out my random passcode. I knew you were smart but why are you so damn persistent I'm not coming bac… " 

"Just shut the fuck up." You cut him off, sounding like Sobo with your harsh tone but you with your cussing. He runs his hands through his hair. 

"Sobi is gone Shoji. You need to come back. You need to say goodbye." 

"She...she what?! That old hag is immortal." 

"Watch your tongue." A startled chilll runs down his spine before you add your own flair to Sobo's best threat, "Or I will have to watch it for you by taking it for myself." 

"And before you start your bullshit pity party we want you here. We need you here. You're family. You need to eat with us. Laugh with us…" Your voice threatens to crack, "Cry with us Shoji. Find your way back home….please." 

Nothingness stretches on between the two of you before you sigh. Hoping he will prove you and everyone else wrong. That he is not a lost cause. 

"We lie her to rest tonight. Under the watch of the full moon near the lake." 

You hang up the phone, crushing it in your hand by accident as salt water streams down your face. 

×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&×&

The hot head has never found himself in so many uncomfortable and vulnerable spots during this trip than he has in his entire lifetime. 

He sits across from Great Oba-san who really only wanted him around to keep any eye on him. A war rages in himself, over the game of Go, over his dream and more so over these new blossoming feelings he has for you. 

Was this going to be worth a few bowls of spicy ramen? 

He fucking thought not. Sobo's voice echoes in his head as the small object burns a hole in his pocket. 

Better to return it now before they think him a thief. 

He withdrawals the stunning single set diamond ring that is surrounded by a ring of off tiny circular onyx. The diamond the moon suspended in the dark night of the onyx. 

A breathtaking piece truly, he sets it atop the paper work Great Oba is sorting. Her facial expression seems to change in slow motion as it adjusts to her rapidly changing emotions. 

"How did you…?" 

"I couldnt sleep and she called me in to hustle me over a game of Go. She said she knew that she...that we lied." Bakugou continues to tell her about the game and dream. All the while Oba stares with wide eyes, fixated on the ring waiting for him to finish. Her face sets hard, her eyes a mixture of emotion. 

"Bakugou, you know what you must do." As if it's a mission, a task. He thinks he must leave immediately. He goes to stand. 

"No. Sit." Controlled rage, pushing the ring back towards the young man, "You must propose now. No one has had Sobo's full blessing like this before." 

He stares at her hard, shocked even before he growls out. 

"We aren't even dating!" 

"In my time, in Sobo's time we didn't know our husbands name until we were wed." She continues to sort, filing things away avoiding taking the ring.  He sucks his teeth, dumbfounded. 

"We dont even like each other!" His forearms pop with his mouth and temper. Great Oba rolls her eyed. 

"That's debatable. I've never seen someone so quick to break down her walls before. Besides only a man would have stayed during this family crises. A boy would have left on the first night."  Bakugou mulls it over, the dream, was it just that or had he really pictured himself here. In this house. 

In this estate year after year as it ebbs and flows of faces with your family. 

Here with you? 

His heart races and slows all at once, his palms sweat as his feet tingle to move. He inhales deeply trying to collect his thoughts and calm his thoughts. 

"What if she says no?" His main worry, his only worry now being rejection. Still unsure if this is his future but it was true if given the opportunity to lay down his life to ensure yours he would do it. 

No hesitation, no doubt to keep you smiling. To ensure you become your own matriarch to protect this house and Sobo's spirit. 

"She wont say no. That ring isn't just any ring. That ring was passed down from our mother and from her mother." She swallows thickly, the thought of most her family having now passed pangs her heart but Oba must go on with big shoes to fill. 

Her elder sister a force of nature. 

Suddenly Bakugou stands, rage mixed in his scarlet eyes. 

"Then it ain't fucking right for me to have this! I can't have this!" 

"But. You. Will." Her tongue a knife. Ripping him to ribbons and all he can see is another version of you. Another strong willed woman, another force to be reckoned with. 

"Besides, I know she will not. Once she sees that ring she will know. Sobo was a great judge of character despite being quirkless. I heard my son Sozen tell the story but only partially. My sister's husband was a great man who sadly was inflicted with a disease, Alzheimer's hit him hard in his old age. And an in home nurse took advantage of that.  She looked much like s younger version it my sister, taking him to casinos and pretending to be his wife. She spent the family fortune, she thought a child would secure her wealth but she had tapped the well dry. When she realized that, she left Shoji on the front step, dirty and naked as if he were garbage." 

Bakugou slumps back onto the amethyst cushion from the weight of the story, still worry is written all along his face. Great Oba sighs. 

"At the end of the day, it is my niece's choice and if she says no at least you can say you tried. You honored Sobo's wish with an attempt and she'd be more than happy with that." Great Oba smiles and he can see a ghost of Sobo's wide, wild smile in her. 

He swallows thickly, gently grabbing the ring. He turns it over and over in his hands. 

This was crazy. 

This was stupid. 

This was crazy fucking stupid. 

But maybe his fate in love was meant to be crazy fucking stupid.

[slasherholic]

synopsis: Your pleasant Christmas dinner at the sorority house is ruined when Billy, ever the horny little shit, decides to make a call.

Concerning the Man in the Attic | Billy Lenz x Reader | NSFW

(Author’s note: this is a -slight- AU where Billy hasn’t actually begun his murder spree yet. All the sorority sisters are still alive and thriving.)

“A slice of ham for you, dear?”

You shake off your daze and blink up at Mrs. Mac from your already full-to-bursting plate. She holds a slender knife to her steaming Christmas ham and looks down at you with an expectant smile, a rosy glow pinkening her plump cheeks, jolliness shining like candlelight in her wrinkled eyes. You can smell the alcohol on her from where you sit.

“Oh, no, that’s alright.” You put on your cheeriest face. “Thank you though Mrs. Mac—maybe a bit later. I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

You don’t miss the way the portly woman’s grin falters. She exhales through her nose.

“Later, then.” Says Mrs. Mac, her smile just a bit more shallow than it had been before, and moves on down the table to ask the same question to Jess. You drop your eyes back to the glob of mashed potatoes crowded on your plate and think, Nicely done. Now you’re on her shit-list.

Except you probably would have made it on Mrs. Mac’s shit-list regardless, because unless you want to puke it right back up all over that stupid Christmas ham, your food is already as good as wasted; your appetite is well and truly gone, and it isn’t coming back.

All because you can’t stop thinking about the calls. 

Today the moaner phoned not once, but twice.

Jess and Phyllis, and Barb especially, her wine glass filled nearly to spilling in her hand, already seem to have forgotten the ordeal. Jess sweeps her dark hair out of her eyes and prods at her asparagus with her fork. Phyllis cups her mug in her slender hands and takes dainty sips. And Barb, sprawled out across the couch with her feet propped on the armrest, knocks back another tall glass of Sauvignon Blanc. She’d popped open her first bottle at 4:00 and has showed no signs of slowing down since.

Whatever thoughts might be preoccupying your sister’s minds you’re confident that they do not concern the man behind those awful calls. The other residents of the house consider the moaner akin to a barking dog—as long as he remains a disembodied ruckus in the neighbor’s yard, why should they fear being bitten? And so they forget him as quickly as the line goes dead.

But not you. Forgetting is off the table for you. Because the reality of the situation—and it is so painfully clear—the reality of the situation is that the dog was never in the neighbor’s yard.

All this time it has been curled up somewhere nice and cozy in yours, and has pissed all over Mrs. Mac’s petunias for good measure, and nobody seems to be batting an eye at the stench. Nobody but you.

But you’ve grown used to covering your nose with your sleeve and pretending you can’t smell it, either.

After the first obscene phone call back at the start of December you could never shake the feeling that something in the house had changed, had soured, had become just not right. There was the case of the missing food from the cabinets; and at night, no shortage of strange creaking and grinding sounds from the attic above; and yes, it was a big old house, but you can’t say you’ve ever heard a rusty pipe squeal like a suckling pig before.

And so you suspect the worst; that the truth behind the moaner is far more sinister than your sisters, than Mrs. Mac, than anyone seems to realize. 

And yet, you wouldn’t dare to bring it up. You wouldn’t dare.

That pervert living in the house somewhere? What a joke. You had no hard evidence to show for it, just a gut-wrenching feeling. The claim would sound paranoid at best.

So here you are, resigned to gritting your teeth; and covering your nose; and bearing the stink.

You tune out most of the chatter as Christmas dinner carries on. Barb chatters to Phyllis—Phyllis lends an ear, sipping lazily from her cocoa with a snide smile plastered across her face. Barb chatters to Jess—Jess doesn’t bite. There’s something eating at her, you think. Mrs. Mac interjects occasionally with chatter of her own.

When the phone rings, the chatter stops. So does your heart.

Your eyes race to where the receiver rests on its stand in the adjoining living room. 

“Rrrring. Rrrring.”

The shrill note carries through the cavernous hallways of Mrs. Mac’s grand old house. Once, twice, three times. 

Barb is on the scene in seconds. She springs upright from her place on the couch, wobbling dangerously when her feet hit the floor—only to regain her precarious balance with the very next step. You chew your lip as she lifts the receiver and presses it to her cheek. 

An ear-to-ear grin sprawls across her face. She sticks the phone out for all to hear.

“Tasty cunt.” Comes the garbled voice over the phone. “I can smell it, I can smell your ripe wet cunt.”

The room must drop by ten degrees because you start to shiver. It’s him again; the moaner.

“Maybe you’re smelling your own breath, pal.” Barb quips.

“Oh Barb, just hang up.” Pleads Jess, worry written across her pale face.

“I’m gonna eat it—ooh, I’m gonna come and eat it, I’ll stick my face in it, let me smell it, let me eat your dripping pussy, I know how wet you are…” 

The phone crackles with manic snickering.

“I watched you stick your fingers up your cunt… I watched you rub and rub and ruin your pretty pinky panties…” 

Your heart drops. Your face burns. You cross your legs beneath the table. You have a pair of panties which might fit that bill. Panties which—perhaps not-so-coincidentally—have been missing for three days.

The man on the phone squeals like a hungry pig. The squeals peter into grunting, shallow and hasty, and Barb, covering her hand with her mouth, has never looked so amused. 

When the line goes dead the living room erupts with hooting laughter.

“The poor guy didn’t even last twenty seconds that time!” Barb barks. She plants the phone back on its stand and slumps onto the couch, her chest heaving.

“No rest for the wicked I guess.” Phyllis suggests. “Not even on Christmas.”

The chatter resumes; you try your absolute hardest to focus on your mashed potatoes and on your green beans and not, for the love of god, on what the moaner is doing with your underwear.

You volunteer to clean up after dinner. Luckily, Mrs. Mac had been too many drinks in to remember that you hadn’t touched a single bite of her hard work (No no, don’t worry yourself, I’ve got it, dinner was splendid, you’ve outdone yourself, really, you deserve a lie down. Merry Christmas to you too Mrs. Mac) and the woman had given you a dull smile, and toddled off to bed.

You scrub at the dried cranberry sauce caked on a plate and try your hardest not to think about the man in the attic. You know you should go to the police. That’s what any rational person would do, right? You can picture the conversation now;

Yes hello officer, there’s a strange man in our house and nobody knows he’s there except me. How do I know? Well it’s simple, you see, I know because he watched me finger-fuck myself and then stole my panties and then called over dinner to gloat about it.

You furrow your brow and scrub harder.

Yeah; fat chance.

If you’re going to do this you need to be certain. You need irrefutable evidence that there is, in fact, some creep squatting in your house. You need to wait for him to slip up—to make a mistake—to show himself.

You huff and drop the sponge into the sink, bending to load the plate into the washer.

“Hugnhh—”

The abrupt sound is a grunt; almost animalistic. It comes from somewhere behind you.

You straighten up like a springboard and turn on your heel, planting your hands on the kitchen sink, your frantic eyes sweeping the room.

The grunting stops as abruptly as it began—but you weren’t imagining it. You couldn’t have been. No way in hell. 

All the hairs on your arms stand on end as you peer out into the dining room. It is silent; silent and still. You hold your breath. You eyeball Mrs. Mac’s beautiful lace cloth; it is draped across the dining room table, nearly touching the floor.

Your grip on the kitchen sink turns your knuckles white.

There’s something underneath the table, screams a voice inside your head.

“Claude?” You whisper to nobody but yourself.

It must be Claude—Claude is on the prowl, and he’s licking at some table scraps. That must be it.

“Come out of there, you silly fat cat.” Your voice wavers that time. As you let go of the sink you approach the table as if it were a living thing, about to rear up on its hind legs and charge you down like an angry bull.

It’s just the cat. Just that stupid fat cat. In a second I’ll feel like a total idiot.

You tell yourself these things as you sink to your knees on the cold wooden floor and grab a fistful of tablecloth. The cloth is silky and cold in your fingers. Your heart pounds as you lift it, peering into the unknown beneath.

For a moment, you forget how to scream.

A dark silhouette is hunched over like a gargoyle beneath the table. 

It is a man, you realize; a man with wild hair and wild eyes. His pants are unzipped. Pearly teeth flash as he gawks at you, a horrible grin sprawling across his face. He pumps a piece of fabric furiously back and forth around his member.

“Pretty—mphh—pinky—ungh—panties…” The voice is instantly recognizable.

You drop the tablecloth and scramble backwards.

The man lunges from beneath the table like a rabid animal. Cold hands scrabble for a grip on your wrists; his momentum topples you. Your back meets the hardwood floor. He pins you with his weight.

You whip your head back and forth as fingers grapple at your jaw and pull on your nose and wrench your mouth wide open. The pink fabric is stuffed in, muffling your scream before it can leave your throat. 

The man clamps a cold, slender hand over your mouth. The grin he wears is manic. Your pulse thuds as hard and as fast as a runaway train in your neck, and as he leans in close you turn your head away from him. The wool of his turtleneck is scratchy against your clavicle. He reeks of mold and dust and cat food.

“Shhh-shush-shush-shushhh…” 

His mouth is inches from your own, sour breath hot against your cheek. 

It’s him. The man from the attic.

The tears come streaming down your face. You think you might die from the shock of it all alone, if the moaner doesn’t kill you first.

“Noisy. Noisy little pig. Trying to run away; trying to run away and tell on Billy.” He strokes your hair like a young girl fawning over a coveted doll.

“You’re not gonna tell, though.” The sound of his snickering is even worse in person. “No-no-no-no. You won’t do it. You won’t.” 

You recoil when his cold fingers graze your cheek, your whine stifled by the gag; your own panties. The taste of Billy’s seed on the fabric is salty and bitter. He’s been using them.

“Greedy greedy little piggy~” Billy’s garble is a sing-songy whisper.

“You think about Billy, you like Billy’s calls, you want to know how Billy tastes, you want his fat cock in your pretty lips so you can suck it, suck it, suck it-suck it-suck it.”

“Nnng-unnh—” You whine at him. A pang of anger flares in your belly.

No. No, no, no. That is just plain wrong. Those calls were vulgar. They were disgusting. Obscene; the very definition of the word. You were most certainly not rubbing one out to the thought of this vile man—to the thought of Billy—with all his classless promises of what he would do to your sisters, if given the chance, and of what he might do to you, in particular…

Above you, Billy snorts.

“Liar. You lying bitch-pig. You’re wet; you’re dripping. I can smell your ripe wet pussy.”

Suddenly those cold, roving fingers are dipping down below your waistline, burrowing beneath your pants. A finger hooks into your cunt up to the knuckle. You writhe, bucking your hips like a mare in heat and trying desperately to throw him off, but Billy’s weight is more than enough to keep you pinned.

Billy looks downright giddy; like he’s about to blow his load then and there. He flashes his lop-sided grin at you and his finger retreats from your warmth, only to be shoved hand-deep into your mouth. You taste your body’s own excitement.

“Soaking! Soaking wet! Nasty pig, filthy pig!” Billy squeals.

I don’t want it, you think, as Billy shifts his weight on top of you, facing your undeniably dripping cunt, planting his knees on either side of your head. His unzipped member dangles inches from your face. You kick your legs, but he is quick with the zipper of your jeans, and shucks them down your thighs with ease, offering your panties the same rough treatment. You squeak into your gag when he gropes starving handfuls of your ass, squeezing and kneading, as if enamoured with your curves; mesmerized.

It’s like he’s never touched a woman before. You suspect you’re not far from the truth.

You can do nothing but watch as Billy’s head dips down between your legs, dark hair tickling the flesh of your thighs. You whine; and that hot, wet, filthy tongue licks a long, sloppy stripe down your bare cunt—from your clit to your ass.

Billy mewls.

“Nasty, nasty nasty nasty—”

His erection bobs in your face, strained and swollen. You suppose you could spit out the gag at this point if you were determined enough. You could scream for Mrs. Mac and Barb and Jess and surely the neighbors would hear, too, and this pervert, this fucking creep, would be thrown back into whatever institution he crawled out of.

But then, the warmth of Billy’s mouth returns to suck and suck and suck at your clit.

You heave a muffled moan and thrash beneath him, no longer trying to dismount him—just because you can’t take it. 

You tremble when Billy’s hot tongue probes at your opening. It is a full-body tremble, a horrible shiver, and you feel that you are both burning up and freezing to death at the same time, a terrible hot-cold sensation. His tongue delves in as far as it can reach; he laps you up greedily. He grunts and moans and squeals all the while, and his member drags across your cheek, and you are not surprised when he plants his elbow on your chest and takes himself in his fist, pumping his cock furiously; back and forth, back and forth.

Billy grunts like an animal when he comes. Hot ropes of his seed spurt out on to your face, coating your lips and your cheeks and your nose.

“You won’t tell them…” Comes Billy’s pitchy whine. It is almost desperate. “You want more of Billy, so much more, so much more…”

You shudder, because you think he’s right.

[dastardlydandelion]

g isn’t for gun (edited)

 ao3 link 

content warnings: child abuse, blood, injury, character death

Billy’s back is against the wall in the garage, shelves of Susan’s gardening supples pressing painfully into his spine, taste of his father’s hand lingering in his mouth. The salty hint of the sweat from his open palm, the waxy residue of the polish he’d been using to clean his guns. They’re still here on the workbench, he was interrupted by a call from the school. Billy’s in trouble for truancy again. He’s skipped one too many days and he’s in trouble, and he can still taste the hand of his furious father as it balls into a fist and punches him hard enough to knock the breath from his lungs. His father’s knuckles plow into his stomach  a second time and he could hate himself for the whiny-wimp-bitch noise punted from his throat.

“Do you like making me look like a jackass?” Neil demands. “I think you think you do!”

Billy raises his head and finds his mouth go dry at the thunderous, dangerous look on his father’s face. Any comebacks he had dissolve in his throat and he. He can’t.

“Leave my brother alone!”

Billy looks past his father. There’s Max in the middle of the garage, lily white complexion budding rose red with a roaring anger too big for her body. She’s petite as is and appears even more so in her baggy skater clothes of choice. Her fists are balled too, held up like she actually wants to hit something. That scares him for her sake, for what Billy dreads will happen if she actually dares to throw a tantrum in front of an already irate Neil.

“This doesn’t concern you, Maxine,” his father states clearly and coldly without even turning around.

“Get outta here,” Billy snaps in agreement, glowering pointed daggers.

Because he can picture it in detail so vivid it’s nauseating. Max’s throat in the crook of Neil’s elbow. Eyes flooding with tears as the pressure goes taut. Max coughing and coughing when Dad finally releases, if she isn’t out cold like Billy is sometimes, on the really bad days. Billy returns his attention to his fuming father. Max takes a couple steps back. That's going to be the end of her involvement. Good.

In a distant way Billy admires Max’s grit and yeah, okay, maybe it feels good that she gives a shit about him, but Billy’s private sentiments don’t compare to his fear. His stepsister needs to fuck off for her own safety. He looks back to his father, meeting and holding his gaze with steel. Billy prepares himself for more yelling, then the unmistakeable cock of a gun has them both freezing.

“I said leave him alone!” Max screeches like a falcon, M1911 stretched out in front of her, bluebell eyes burning in defiance.

Now Neil does whip around and for a moment he hesitates, just as taken aback as Billy. His mouth screws open and then his face hardens.

“I said get outta here!” Billy shouts so loud it rips his throat. Max is one goddamn gutsy firecracker and he’d be impressed by the act of rebellion if it wasn’t bound to get them both killed.

Max’s blazing eyes flicker over the blood at the corner of Billy’s mouth and she holds her ground. “No! I’m sick of living like we’re in a prison! I'm sick of living like we have to ask him permission just to fucking breathe!”

“Maxine, you put that down right now or you’re going to be in a world of trouble,” Neil warns, dark and seething.

She responds by pointing it at his head. Neil growls, lurching right toward her. Billy suddenly finds the ability to move. Quick as a viper, he darts in between them, pushing back against his father. For a moment he isn’t entirely sure exactly who he is protecting and then he realizes it’s both of them.

Billy is protecting Max in case she misses. He’s protecting Neil in case she doesn’t.

“Calm down, Dad! She’s fourteen, she doesn’t know what she’s doing!”

“That’s exactly why she needs to put it down!” Neil snarls right in his ear.

“Get outta here, Max!” Billy shouts for the second time, grinding his jaw as he struggles to restrain his infuriated father.

“You ungrateful little brat!“ Neil roars.

“Move, Billy!” Max shouts, finger on the trigger.

And Billy does move but not quite of his own accord. Neil swings an elbow and the next thing he knows, pain bursts through his face. Billy sees stars as his cheek radiates white-hot hurt. Stunned, his grip slips. He stumbles and hurriedly scrambles back between his father and his stepsister, pushing at him again daring to imagine the fight going in his favor, if only he could take Neil on the floor. Before Billy can go forward with the slapdash plan in his head, there’s a noise not particularly unlike a firecracker on the fourth of July. It almost matches the stars as they recede from his vision.

Neil drains pale and suddenly stops resisting. Billy looks back over his shoulder at his stepsister, actually sees the orange flare from the muzzle as she fires again. Giving a startled cry, Max swaggers sideways, arms jolting with the recoil she was all too clearly unprepared for. As far as Billy knows, this is Max’s first time shooting a gun and that one’s definitely too much for her. It’s Max’s first time shooting a gun she isn’t ready for and Billy— Billy realizes her aim, her accuracy, well, without any practice, it’s—

“It was an accident!” Max yips behind him, frantic, nearly as shrill as Susan in her distress. “Shit! Holy shit, Billy, you’re bleeding!”

Billy is struck with the realization of just how shoddy Max’s accuracy is as his efforts to restrain Neil turn into efforts to hold onto him so he doesn’t fall— so he can steady himself and remain upright. Neil doesn’t even push him away. He’s gone strangely silent, ghost white as Billy fists into the collar of his navy blue button-up.

“Yeah,” Billy mutters, vaguely annoyed as he blinks down at the egg sized exit wound cascading crimson into his favorite white muscle tank. The bullet tore right through the thin strap of the sleeve and the pristine white fabric thirstily soaks up all the blood that just keeps pouring. “You shot me.”

No way he’s salvaging this shirt. Strangely, it’s the shirt he’s more concerned about. It doesn’t hurt like Billy thinks it should. He feels like he got stung by a wasp. He watches connecting canals course down his arm, a small scale rain shower of ruby falling from his fingertips and pattering to the concrete. He just watches, numb, flabbergasted, not hurting like he believes he’s supposed to.

“Maxine, go open the truck passenger’s seat.” Neil commands, steely and stern but somehow the boiling rage of mere moments before receding to a different kind of exigency. “Now, hurry up!”

And for all her defiance just as recent, her palatable hate for their shared monster, Max immediately obeys. She slams her palm against the button to open the automatic garage door and limbo bends herself under the aluminum as soon as she can. Darts off, soles of her sneakers swiftly slapping the cement.

“Can I let go of you for a sec?” Neil urges. “Get you a towel?”

“Uh…no. No, sir.” Billy shakes his head. He thinks he’ll fall. He really does. His head is swimming and the bones in his legs are suddenly squishy as gelatin. He also doesn’t actually trust Neil not to go after Max.

“Come on, you can stand by yourself for a second,” Neil argues. “It’s just your shoulder, be a man.”

Against his better judgement, Billy lets Neil let go. The garage door is open now. Billy stares down the driveway and watches Max fling open the passenger door with the hand that isn’t holding the gun. She’s still holding it. Billy doesn’t understand why she’s still holding it but then Neil’s pressing a towel against his shoulder and now— now it does hurt, throbbing all the way to his back with the horrible and just plain bizarre sensation of something grinding like peppercorns beneath his torn flesh. Billy clamps his jaws around the scream in his throat.

“You’re fine, you’re fine,” Neil repeats with every step he shepherds Billy toward the truck. “You’re alright, we’re going to the hospital.”

“I’m really fucking bleeding,” Billy remarks and he’s not sure if he’s arguing or not, if he’s being contrary or simply making an observation.

Max is still there, wild eyed, M1911 foreboding and menacing and awkwardly large in her trembling hand.

“Put that back right now, Maxine,” Neil growls, practically shoving Billy in the passenger’s seat because apparently he’s not moving fast enough by himself. “Put that back and go to your room until your mother comes home!”  

Max takes a long look at Neil. Her eyes seem to shake in their sockets.

“I’m sorry, Billy!” she yelps and just like that, she spins on her heel and takes off down the block. As she pistons she picks up speed, legs pumping hard, arms swinging at her sides. She’s running away again. She’s run away before. Twice. This is the third time. Three strikes and she’s out. Billy’s stomach sinks with the dread.

Max is doing everything she shouldn’t be doing and he isn’t going to be able to protect her from the backlash. Not like this. Not this time.

“Maxine! Goddamn it!” Neil shakes a fist after her but makes no move to pursue. He’s still very pale. It makes the flecks of Billy’s blood on his face stand out that much more.

“I’m bleeding,” Billy reminds him and maybe that’s not what he’s supposed to say, not the tough thing to say, not the macho thing to say.

“Dad, there’s blood everywhere,” he continues and he’s trying to be calm. His voice is level and he tries not to sound like he wants to cry even though he kind of does and if he does, Neil’s going to taunt him all the way to the ER for being a pussy-baby-wimp-bitch-loser.

But Billy can’t lift his arm and there’s blood all over. His shirt is ruined and it’s in his jeans now, the towel in his hand has already soaked to the point of uselessness. His head is spinning and he’s terrified of what Neil is going to do to Max. Horrified at the prospect of being unable to do anything about it.

He doesn’t really get along with Susan but Max being spared the full force of Neil’s wrath is one of the few unspoken understandings that exists between them. But Billy isn’t going to be able to hold up his end of the bargain like this, he doesn’t think, or— or maybe. Maybe he can if he redirects Neil’s anger now. If he takes this opportunity to really get under his skin. It’s all that there’s left to do.

“This is all your fault,” Billy accuses when his father finally slides into the driver’s seat.

“Say again?” Neil seems distracted more than taken aback, clumsily fumbling with the keys.

“It’s your fault,” Billy repeats. “Max is just a kid, she didn’t know what she was doing.”

“Horse shit,” Neil growls. “You bet your ass that little brat knew exactly what she wanted to do.”

“Still your fault,” Billy challenges. “She’s right, we can’t even fucking breathe without your permission. You try to control everything…one of us was gonna do this eventually. If not Max then me. Or hell, maybe even Susan would’ve went Linda Couch on your ass.”

“Jesus H. Christ, I always knew you were an ungrateful son of a bitch, but to say something that disrespectful? After everything I’ve done for you, you'd say something like that?” Neil finally jams the key in the ignition, blinking like he’s dazed before he angrily starts the truck. He gives himself a shake as he guns it into the street, tires squealing. Houses blur past and turn into trees.

“Yeah, everything you’ve ever done for me,” Billy sneers. “Beat up my mom—“

“Hey, that whore slung her pussy every which way the wind blows! Hell, for all I know, you’re not even mine!”

“Oh, I’m yours, all right.” Billy rolls his eyes. He’s feeling woozy and his hands are wet and he’s kind of scared now, but not as scared of bleeding as he is scared of what Neil will do to Max if her fails to secure his father’s ire now. She’s in trouble either way, but Billy hopes he at least has a chance to mitigate the pain that’ll come her way if he can get Neil seeing red in his direction.

“Let’s keep going down the list of all the wonderful things you’ve done for me that I should be oh-so grateful for. Let's see, you broke my shit whenever I struck out at Little League practice—“

“You improve under pressure, Billy. That’s just who you are.”

“Broke my actual leg once, do you remember that? Back when I had my paper route?”

“…that was an accident...”

“Pfft. Barely.”

“You were kissing another man’s wife! What I did wasn’t half as bad as what he would’ve done if he’d been the one to catch you.”

Billy just rolls his eyes again. He could go on but Neil beats him to it.

“I fed you, I clothed you, I kept a roof over your head!”

“Right.” Billy huffs hotly, blinking as he lifts the towel to take a peek at his shoulder. “So like, the bare minimum.”

“Don’t get smart with me. You don’t have the faintest idea what it takes to be a parent. What it takes to be a fath—“ Neil breaks off, violently hacking into his hand.

Billy gapes at the saucer of red when Neil’s hand retracts from his mouth, the beads glistening in his facial hair.

“Whoa,” Billy gasps in realization. “Max shot you.”

“…yes.” Neil wipes his palm off on his jeans, shifts his eyes back to the road as he bitterly continues, “It’s a bullet, Billy, it had to go somewhere when it tore outta you. Bullets don’t pop like bubble soap.”

“Holy shit.” Billy has no idea how he didn’t notice. His father’s shirt is darker than his, but still. “Wait, should you be driving?”

“It’s not the first time I’ve been shot, William.” Neil keeps his eyes ahead but he’s so pale he’s almost translucent and a foreboding feeling grows deep in the pit of Billy’s stomach.

“Oh, Jesus, not that again.” Billy cackles wildly and it hurts, it sends torturous throbs all down his arms and across his trunk. His ribs stick into him like he's made of mashed potatoes and he cackles maniacally anyway. “You and your stupid wounded warrior bullshit—“

“Don’t you dare insult my service!” Neil forms a fist and Billy knows he’s going to get hit but then his father’s coughing into the curled fingers instead and it sounds wet and he shouldn’t be driving. No way in hell should Neil be driving, they shouldn’t be on the road, this empty road with nothing but trees on either side as the seats soak up their blood.

“I wouldn’t give a flying fuck if you had a hundred purple hearts,” Billy taunts scornfully and he’s never, ever dared to say anything like this at all actually, but if he doesn’t now, he never will and he’s feeling as vindictive as he ever has. His heart is suddenly as light as his head. Above all, he finally feels free and isn't his freedom what Neil supposedly sacrificed for?

Fighting for his freedom, that generously noble thing Neil did that supposedly grants him this unalienable right to pull rank above everybody else?

“You're an asshole, Dad. And I bet you cling to that military bravado because you enjoyed shooting people. Wrap it up in all the red, white, and blue you want, you bastard. I see you, I know who you really are. You’re just some asshole who likes yourself best when you’re hurting other people.”

And even though he’s still coughing and there’s red spurting through his fingers, his father’s eyes meet his and Billy realizes he’s actually hurt him. For the first time in his life, possibly, he’s actually gotten in a dig that had an effect, made a profound impact. For the first time the pain in Neil’s eyes matches his own and Billy revels in it right until the moment they swerve off the road.

Metal crunches like stomping on a beer can. Billy pitches forward, seatbelt biting into him hard, wounded shoulder jarred as his teeth rattle. It happens so fast, the cacophony, the heart-pounding moment of impact.

The moment is. Then Neil is not.

Suddenly the truck’s in a ditch and Neil is undeniably dead, slumped forward in the seat. The horn blares continuously, uninterrupted and earsplitting under the slack weight of his forehead. Billy reaches over and clumsily pulls him off of it just to make it stop. The way Neil’s head lolls creeps him out and makes him want to puke at the same time.

“Yeah, you’re dead alright, you bastard,” he mumbles.

He closes the lids of his father’s blank eyes with a sweep of the hand and swallows against the sight of his own blood smearing across his face. He’s still bleeding. He’s probably dying too. What a fucking crapshoot.

Billy feels cheated. Action heroes on the big screen never die when they get shot in the shoulder. It’s always a flesh wound. But Billy supposes he’s never been the heroic type anyway.

His heart hammers, chest tightening as he realizes he’s graduated from frightened to flat-out fucking terrified. He’s bleeding all over and his injury throbs with a diabolical vengeance. He could be dying. For a moment he thinks maybe he’ll hold his dad’s hand because he’s dead now, and he can’t swat him off, and then Billy realizes how goddamn stupid that is.

“You’re an asshole and I’m not gonna die with you,” he mutters, shifting in his seat, getting his good hand on the door. He gets it open and half-hops-half-falls out of the truck.

Hitting the ground sends a torrent of torment ripping through his shoulder and Billy lets himself scream. Pulls himself up anyway, stumbles to the side of the road with his hand clamped over the bloody egg hole in his flesh, painful sensation of peppercorns grinding together beneath the meat. He wonders if he should just keep walking…if he can keep walking.

Billy’s definitely dizzy now and he feels like he might fall over again because he’s pretty unsteady, uncoordinated. It’s a little harder to breathe than it was a few minutes ago, he thinks. It’s like he can’t catch his breath and maybe that means he’s panicking even though he’s trying not to panic, panicking won’t help and Neil is dead. Neil is dead?

Yeah, Neil’s dead. Billy won’t die with him. He refuses. He at least needs to get away from the truck. If he’s gong to die, it’s going to be at least twenty feet away from his good for nothing, piece of shit father who just got exactly what he deserved. Fuck you, Dad, fuck you and your pretend patriotic freedom fighter bullshit.

Billy prides himself on knowing he hurt him. That their last conversation was one where he was the one to render Neil speechless. The lingering satisfaction gives Billy a boost he uses to push on a bit further. He’s swaying like a porch swing before he sinks to his knees in the grass.

Maybe he just needs a break. He’ll take a break. Catch his breath and then he’ll get up again and…

And walk to town?

Check himself into the ER?

Shit, he’s fucked. Billy is so, so fucked, and the pendulum swings and he’s freaking out again and trying to get up and he never ever should’ve let himself sink, he should’ve known better than to let himself go down because it’s so much harder to get up this time.

Billy wonders about Max. He wonders if she still has Neil’s gun, if she’s still running around with her finger on the trigger. He wonders if she knows she killed Neil. Wonders if she knows she killed Billy because she did, didn’t she?

He can’t get up.

He blames Neil more. Yeah, he blames Neil more. One of them was always going to do something, right?

Billy understands, of course he does, how many times had he thought about doing that himself? How many times had he brought the muzzle to his own mouth and jammed it against his teeth not to die, he didn’t (doesn’t!) want to die, just to get away from Neil.

He’s still thinking about Max when there are headlights and people here, people he knows, Nancy Wheeler and her smoking hot mom. Billy blinks at them blearily, wondering if they’re real. When they begin to pull him up, his ruined shoulder screams and the musky scent of Karen’s perfume wafts over his nose, and it’s all too vivid to be a dream.

“What happened?” Nancy asks, Karen asks. Alarmed. More than once.

“My dad’s dead but it’s not her fault,” Billy explains.

They must know this, if anything, they must know this. If he’s going to die in the backseat, Nancy pressing Karen’s hastily stripped leg warmers to his entrance and exit wounds, then it must be known that he doesn’t blame Max. Because if Billy doesn’t blame Max, then maybe the law won’t blame her either. Maybe somebody already called the cops because sure, some of their neighbors are geriatric and deaf as all hell, but there were two gunshots and a redheaded girl taking off like a bat outta hell with a gun in her hand, and none of it was inconspicuous.

“He made her do it,” Billy emphasizes.

Karen’s pushing the pedal to the metal and burning rubber like a NASCAR champion and god, if Billy didn’t want to roll around with her before— if he survives this, he’s definitely taking her to a motel —but that’s not the point. It’s Neil’s fault. He practically did make her do it. Force her hand because he was just like that and the pressure of living under him just did things to you, Billy knew better than anyone.

“He made her do it, it’s not her fault.”

“We got it,” Nancy promises, voice weirdly jittery considering she doesn’t particularly care for him at school. “We got it, okay? Maybe stop talking and just breathe?”

“Bossy,” Billy mutters.

It is getting harder to breathe. It’s like he can’t hold onto the oxygen long enough before it’s whooshing right out again. Billy doesn’t understand why. He isn’t shot in the chest, it’s his shoulder, just his stupid shoulder, it shouldn’t be screwing up his ability to breathe.

Only maybe being shot isn’t why he can’t breathe, maybe being scared is why he can’t breathe. Because he’s panicking, right? He’s panicking, remember?

Maybe he’s outright having a panic attack. He’s had them before. He tries to drown the memory of them down with whatever he can get his hands on, really. But now he is undeniably scared. Neil is dead and Billy is still fucking scared of what’s going to happen to Max. She has blood on her hands now and they’re not going to let her off the hook for something like that just because she’s a kid, are they?

It’s mostly Neil’s fault but it’s kind of Billy’s fault too.

Max picked up the gun because Neil was going at him. And Neil was going at him because Billy skipped school. But it’s not like following Neil’s rules was ever a guarantee anyway. Fuck it. Sometimes it helped, sure, but sometimes it didn’t do a damn thing, how the hell was Billy ever supposed to know the difference?

Nancy’s speaking to her mother with something urgent in her voice. Billy looks at her hands. Stares at the glaze of red staining her skin up to the wrists as she presses down desperately hard on the sodden leg warmer bundled over his shoulder.  He wishes someone would turn the heat on. It’s starting to get cold, which is weird, because the weather is warm and balmy today.

He feels himself drifting by the time they’re at the ER. He’s only rudimentarily aware of the transfer from the Wheelers’ car to the stretcher. His own legs quaking under his weight and other hands on him. He makes it onto the thing with help and then there’s a shit ton of people in his face. They’re mostly yakking at each other and not him, but there are a few questions fired in his direction.

Billy manages his name and phone number and repeats as much of the story he’s sticking to as he can. It wasn’t Max’s fault. Neil made her do it.

More or less, that’s the truth.

* * * 

Billy feels weird. Surreal and vaguely nauseous. The lady in scrubs is so short, she’s perhaps not even five feet. Stocky and rounded with pudge next to Susan who stands nearly six and lithe— not in the least because Neil always rode her ass about staying a trim, presentable trophy wife —it’s sort of like staring at a shetland pony beside a hanoverian horse. Billy doesn’t mean to say this out loud, but he thinks he does because after the thought concludes, Scrubs scowls and Susan pinches the bridge of her nose.

“I know equines,” he mumbles. “My mom took me to the fair…”

He remembers it. That big barn with metal box fans and a rainbow of ribbons next to the horse’s names on the stalls. Mom holding his hand steady and making sure he kept his fingers flat so they wouldn’t get chomped by the velvety lips seeking treats in his palm. He remembers the warm scents of hey and alfalfa swirling together, wafting up his nose, the horses’ tails like paintbrushes swatting at insects fluttering by.

“Billy, I know you’re groggy, but can you focus for me?” Susan asks, lowering her hand. “Please?”

Billy blinks at her, shrugs his shoulders— tries to, anyway. It prompts a spike of pain through the left and well, of course it does. He got shot. That’s right, Max shot him. Wow. He wets his lips with his tongue and glances down, tracing languid fingertips over the thick bandaging.

“Feels kinda heavy…” Billy wonders how many layers there are for it to feel this heavy, just how much gauze and batting separate his fingertips from his wounds.

“You had surgery, hon,” Scrubs explains gently. “We had to repair an arterial bleed and the bullet broke your scapula.”

“My spatula,” Billy agrees hazily, attempting to blow a low whistle that comes out as more of a rasp. “Whoa…shit, surgery? S’it serious?”

In theory, being shot sounds kind of badass. Neil always talked like a badass when he showed his scars off. But Billy’s stomach is sinking, worry already resurfacing from the murky lake of his mind.

“It could’ve been much worse.” Scrubs gives him a pat on his good shoulder Billy thinks is supposed to be reassuring. Her hands are unpleasantly clammy and he blinks dazed eyes against the touch.

“Billy, where is Maxine?” Susan prompts, worriedly nibbling her lip.

“It wasn’t her fault,” Billy defends, vehement. “She didn’t mean to. Neil…”

Neil’s dead.

That’s right, Neil is dead. Billy snapped at him. And then he died. And a few things happened in between that. He shouldn’t have been driving. Why didn’t he just call an ambulance instead?

“…it’s his fault.”

“But where did she go?” Susan asks, each word spoken slow, voice a mix of fear and frustration. “It’s been hours and she still hasn’t come home.”

“Hours?” Billy echoes, blinking rapidly. “What?”

Doesn’t feel like hours. Maybe like, one hour tops since he’s been here. They asked him questions. They gave him an oxygen mask he tried to fight off until he realized how much better it made breathing. He was cold. It wasn’t Max’s fault.

“Ma’am,” Scrubs interrupts. “Your son isn’t—“

“She’s not my mother,” Billy declares at the same time Susan corrects, “S-Stepson.”

They stare at each other for a moment and Susan anxiously rubs her hands together.

“Do you have any idea where Max went, Billy?” she pleads. “This is very important.”

“No…but it’s not her fault. She owes me a new shirt…but she didn’t mean it. Neil was scaring her, Max just…” Billy trails off, worried about saying too much. Who knows who’s listening.

Susan sighs softly and glances away, visibly uncomfortable.

“I’ll help you look for her,” he decides.  

It’ll be much better if he and Susan find Max before she gets picked up by a cop.

“Oh, um…don’t worry about it.” Susan shakes her head. “The Wheelers brought you in, I know she goes to school with their boy, um…I suppose I’ll start there.”

“I’ll help you,” Billy insists because he was there, so his input is going to be key in keeping Max out of trouble.

“That’s not necessary.” She gives him a dubious look.

“You don’t think I can?” Billy challenges. “Psh. M’not a wimp, Susan, s’just my…my spatula? Gimme five minutes and I’ll be good to go.”

He just needs to find his shoes, or something. New shirt. Shirt and shoes. No shirt, no shoes, no service.

“Alright then, Billy,” Susan concedes to him, never was much for arguing. Shares a look with Scrubs and runs a hand through her hair. “You take your five minutes. I’ll pull the car around.”

Billy bobs his head, glad for her cooperation. He’s out and around more than Susan is, he has a better mental map of the town and where Max hangs out. Not only is it better for Billy to find Max because he was there, but Susan is bound to find her faster with his geographical guidance. Billy might be a little banged up but he’s not some useless coma patient. Max needs him to help find her and say whatever he can to keep her free. Max freed them from Neil and Billy is going to make sure free is how she stays, that one snap decision she made scared won’t end in their household prison exchanged for a brick-and-mortar one.

Billy waits until Susan leaves the room to close his eyes. He isn’t going to sleep. He definitely isn’t. He swears to himself he won’t. He just needs a moment to collect himself. Only a minute or two, just to get his bearings…

[gayllamafromspace]

Embrace Your Chaos

(Tissaia De Vries/Reader)

Chapter 1: Doubt Can Be Dangerous

"You are all conduits of chaos, the magical force controlled by mages..." the Rectoress begins. It is the first day of our lives in Aretuza, all of us were taken from our homes, because we are, as Rectoress said, "conduits of chaos," whatever the fuck that means. I was perfectly fine with my ordinary life. Daughter of a Lord, not a very well known one, but a lord nonetheless. I'm (Y/N) and the only thing important about me were my relations to my father and the money to my name. That is apparently until I performed some sort of magic, which I personally don't believe.

From what my younger brother told me, I allegedly "made the ouchie on his knee go bye-bye." All I did was kiss it and hold him until he fell asleep (ma had him brought to his room because he "could not walk", but I know that was horse shit), I mean really. Kissing boo-boos doesn't make them better, I'm sure it just wasn't as bad as he thought and it healed up quickly on it's own. Of course, somehow this "Rectoress of Aretuza" found out about my brother's story, and came to my father's estate. My father, being the backboneless lout he is sent me off without the blink of an eye. Didn't even make her pay for me, like most men would. I can't help but think that, if my mother had been home that day, maybe I would still be at home…

"(Y/N), are you not grateful for your opportunity here? Because you seem to care nothing for the opportunity you've been given." The Rectoress says, pulling me from my thoughts. I look at her blankly, opting to show no emotion. From my peripheral vision I can see that the eyes of seven other girls are on me. The Rectoress impatiently raps her fingers on the podium in front of her.

"Are you a mute? Or are you too daft to know when you're being spoken too?" She remarked, irritation evident in her voice. I take a deep breath and slowly let it out.

"I am not mute, and I know that you are talking to me." I say, she raises a brow clearly expecting more. I comply, assuming that if I don't I'll probably be turned into a toad or something.

"I was simply wondering why I am here, I clearly don't belong here. If magic, of any kind, really does exist, it's very unlikely that I would be able to do it" I continued, a bit of sass working its way into my tone, completely involuntarily. The Rectoress only laughs, bitterly and cold. She walks from behind her podium and comes to stand before mine, getting too close for comfort.

"If you doubt your power, then you doubt the judgement of the Brotherhood of Sorcerers. Such an offense is ignorant for anyone to partake in…. If you're so sure that we are wrong, why don't you prove it." She says, almost too happy to put me on display. No doubt she is hoping I will embarrass myself with refusal. Most of these girls would. Me being me, I give her a cocky smile step away from her. I can see what I think is a flash of shock in her eyes.

"Alright, Rectoress, what will you have me do?" I say slyly, using a trick I learned from observing my father's court. When you want to get your point across, be confident in your actions - if not cocky. People love confidence. False or not.

"Well… your brother seems to think that you used magic to heal his scraped knee." the rectoress grabs a random girl from the circle, a girl at about my height and age, maybe older.

"You will heal this one." In a quick movement, the Rectoress grabs a sharp stone from off of one of the seven podiums and drags it across the young girl's flesh, creating a relatively deep and nasty gash on her forearm. When the rectoress let go of the girl she pushed her towards me and turned away as if the screaming and crying of the girl meant nothing.

"You have one week (Y/N), if she dies because of your inability to use chaos, consider your argument won. Leave us." the Rectoress announces, with a dismissive tone. I bare my teeth and try my damnedest to stifle my anger. 'How can someone be so cruel? This girl did nothing to deserve this…' I think to myself as I escort the young mage to my room, applying pressure to gash on her arm. Her wailing and screams of pain chills me to the bone. She thrashes about a bit, which only makes it harder for me.

"I'm sorry…" I whisper to her. "We're almost there."

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

When we arrive to my room, I can already tell that she's lost too much blood. 'How am I supposed to save her within a week if she's doomed to bleed out on the first day!' I think frantically, ripping some fabric from my dress and tying it tightly around her wound, she screams even louder, causing everything in my room to shake. I bite my lip, ignoring the pain in my ears from the shrill sound. Upon finishing the last knot and take a step back, breathing heavily. Feeling like I've been struck in the chest, I watch as the girl cries and coughs painfully.

"I… I'm sorry…" I say, not knowing what to do. All I really can do right now is hope that her bleeding slows and that she calms down enough to let me try and heal her. She looks at me, in a dazed and tired way, her eyes are still pricked with tears ready to fall. But behind them, I can see a burning hatred, it's almost as if I can feel the fire from her gaze. Those icy eyes… how much hate have they held before looking at me…. I blink a few times, trying to clear my head, and kneel down beside her.

"I know you hate me for this, and I truly am sorry, but if you're going to live, you have to work with me." I say, she continues to glare at me, but gives the slightest of nods. I hold back a breath of relief and avert my gaze to the wall. I don't know how much more I can stand looking into those eyes. She makes me want to slit my own throat for doing this to her. It's all my fault. If I had just listened when I was supposed to, if only I hadn't challenged the Rectoress. This girl would be fine, she would be in the lesson, devoid of all pain… no threat of death looming over her head.

I begin to cry, I plead and apologize for what I've done to her.

"I-i… I am so sorry… I never wanted- hic- this to happen… I didn't know… I'm glad you hate me… I d-deserve to be hated. I don't know if I can save you, I-" I ramble and sob, until she places her other hand over my mouth, and says to me in a pained and venomous tone,

"Stop your whining you idiot. I'd rather bleed out right now then deal with your sad little self-deprecating monologue…" she takes a deep breath, baring her teeth. "... if you are going to help me, you better do it fast. I will help you… at least I was actually paying attention to what our Rectoress was saying."

I look at her, at a loss for words, So close to death, and she's still pushing on. With such bold determination, I nod in agreement.

"What do I need to do?" I ask her pleadingly. She blinks slowly, clearly trying her hardest not to fall asleep.

"For starters, you could help me to lay down, this position isn't the most comfortable." She says heavily. As quickly, and gently as I can, I lie her down, placing her head gently on my pillow and elevating her slightly. I look at her to see if she this is sufficient and she nods.

"Now what? How do I stop the bleeding?" I ask after looking down at her arm and seeing that she has bled through the fabric and it's starting to soak into the sheets of my bed.

"Tie another piece of fabric above the wound, it will slow it down…" her eyes lull slightly and she appears to be close to going unconscious.

"NO no nonono! You are NOT falling asleep, stay awake damn it!" I yell at her while fiddling with my dress and trying to get another strip of fabric. The girl widens her eyes and looks over to me deliriously, clearly out if it. She won't be anymore help… it's up to me.

"Okay okay… stay awake please!" I exclaim, frantically tying the new strip of fabric on her upper arm as tightly as possible, trying to slow the circulation of blood to her arm. The girl hisses in pain and turns her head to the side. Quickly, I step away from her and and pace frantically.

These people believe that I healed my brother, and the Rectores thinks I could do it again, but his injury was just a small scrape, if I even did heal him, healing a deep gash would be a thousand times harder to do. All I need to do right now is think of how I can help her without wasting my time on magic… I need to replace her bandage, it'll do no good to keep the current one on. I go over to the bedside table and search for a soft cloth, or even something cotton on the off chance. All that I found were a few wash rags.

It'll have to do. I take her former bandage off and set it to the side, moving quickly, I soak one of the wash rags with water and squeeze some of it out. I return to the young mage's side and dab at the wound, which elicits a whimper from her. Thankfully it's stopped bleeding so horribly and is much easier to clean now. Once I've cleared away as much dry blood and germs as I could, I fold another cloth and press it into place, being sure to apply enough pressure so that in case she does start bleeding out again, it won't be as bad. After soaking and cleaning the old fabric to the best of my abilities, I bind the wash rag to her wound with it.

With a deep breath, I take a seat in the chair residing in the corner of the room. She should be fine for the time being, I'll have time to think. 'How did I heal my brother, if I did so in the first place.' I think to myself. 'It's not like it was a conscious thing, all I did was kiss his knee and hold him. I didn't like him being hurt, I wanted him to get better, even if it was a tiny scrape' I pause for a moment in my thinking. I had wanted my brother get feel better, desired it. What if it was my desire to heal him, just me trying to to actually do magic. My eyes widen. I was wrong, I may actually have this "chaos" that the Rectoress was talking about, she seems to know quite a bit about what she's talking about, and seeing as how she was so confident in hurting the girl, I think she may know that I'll be able to heal her.

But how? I didn't pay attention to her lesson, how could I possibly heal her without knowing how. Well, when I healed my brother, it was all desire. I want to heal this girl, very badly, but what if it's not just desire, what if it's my bind with them? My brothers loves me, and I love him, but this girl hates me, I am the reason she's in this mess. And if I can't heal her, then wait happens? Do I suffer just like her, do I go back home? If she dies, her life is in my hands, everything she could never do, never he, would be my fault. I will ruin her life, simply because I didn't want to believe I belonged here. It's truly a shame, she's such a lovely girl, she has a dominant spark in her too. So rare in today's world, where women are seen and not heard, sometimes not even seen.

I look over to her once more, she's fallen asleep, but she should be fine. None of her blood has leaked through her new bandages, and she's starting to get her coloring back. Minus of course her arm, it's so pale, I'll need to loosen the bind stopping her blood, or she loose it. I get up and take off the turkit. I should probably sleep... making my way back over to the chair, I sit down and get comfortable. I just hope she lasts until morning.

Slowly, I fall asleep. Eyes heavy and body weak, it's not long before I'm drug into a slumber.

[whumpiary]

continued directly from the last section of this post. the lead-up post is vignettey, so you can skip straight to the last section for context especially as majority of the warnings in the post do not apply for that section.

[content warnings: heevily referenced drugs and drugging, referenced past abuse, panic attack, mild dissociation, brief emeto mention]

-

He wakes up in Lou's bed. He knows it's Lou's bed because despite the chokers and studded boots, her bedroom is all bohemian patterns and peach tones and the doona cover is too. He doesn't move yet. He doesn't have it in him to bear it. 

It's a horrible, horrible feeling, drifting away in complete terror and walking up full to the brim of nothing but numbing calm.

It would be disorientating - should be - but honestly he's done this so many times that it feels like a well rehearsed play. His mouth is dry. His muscles ache. If he sits up to fast the dizziness will come crashing in. The headache won't fade until halfway through tomorrow. 

What he isn't expecting, when he rolls over to face the window, is Lou in the cane chair in the corner, curled up like a cat with her head on her knee. 

He doesn't say anything.

For a long while neither does she.

It's a long frozen minute, falling through space. 

"Hey," she says, not raising her head. He doesn't say anything.

Slowly, she uncurls herself until she's sitting, feet on the floor. Her bedroom looks nothing like her but suits her all the same. Crushed bright colors, too many pillows, a collection of knick-knacks too artsy to be accidental. Evidence that she has a soft side beneath the resting bitch face. 

Pity that side was twisted too. 

"You awake this time, or…?" she trails off, tilts her head to the side as she looks at him. She's got this soft worried look on her face like it matters to her what he thinks of her. Like it matters to her what he's feeling. 

"Did I do something earlier?" he asks. It happened sometimes, with sleeping pills. Or powders. Whatever they'd given him. Sleeping, sure, but sleep talking too. Walking, even. He'd heard stories of people driving all the way to work and clocking in before someone clued they weren't conscious. Full on sleep fucks.

"Sorta," Lou shrugs "Just lay there like that and then went back to sleep."

Silence again. She's watching him so carefully he feels like he might shatter. 

"Josiah made some pasta," she says, trying for light. It doesn't reach her eyes. He registers kind of apathetically that it looks like she's been crying "I don't know if it's any good but-"

“Not hungry.”

“I can get you some water?”

"You must think I'm fucking stupid."

Lou bites down on her tongue, lips twisted with the way it's shoved between her molars. She rubs her thumb across her temple. Sighs. "Yeah, that’s... fair."

He keeps watching her, like a tiger watching its keeper, and she keeps trying to pretend it isn’t making her nervous. She plays with the rolled hem of her shirt, inspects her nails like she’s considering biting them, smooths the edges of the blanket over the arm of the chair. And Cass just watches.

There’s a bird outside singing out without reprieve. Only it isn’t singing. Not really. It's a shrill sorta shriek. Like it’s screaming and screaming and screaming.

“I really am sorry, Cass,” she whispers, low enough that he wonders if she's hoping he won’t hear it. Cass revels in the fire that burns in his chest as she says it. It’s the stoking of violence and hatred and the worst kind of vindication.

Cass doesn’t say anything. He watches. 

He wonders when she took her makeup off. If it’d been last night — or whenever it was he’d been awake last — or if she’d done it just before coming in. A way of making her look more vulnerable. More open.

Look like the innocent flower etcetera, et-fucking-cetera.

“Cass, love. About last-”

“Where’s Josiah?” he says, trying very hard to make it seem like it’s just a question and not a way of counting bullets. She looks at him, almost scoffs just under breath. He watches the inhale, the hold, the exhale. The careful choice of words.

“Um. Last night, any time Josiah came close, tried to touch you... You were um...” 

He can’t remember but he can imagine it. He can imagine the pendulum swinging between kicks and bared teeth or begging and pleading. Or maybe he just cried.

That’s the worst one. When he cries.

Lou shrugs, almost trying to wave it off. “We just thought maybe you needed some space.”

Cass considers that. That could mean he left the house. It could mean he’s still here, just the next room over. Depends how much they want to trust Cass won’t leave with just one person watching. Lou sucks in an audible breath in preparation to say something, and he raises his gaze to meet hers, despite himself.

“Look. Last night. Before you fell asleep. When you were, um…” she starts. Stops. Clears her throat. Tries again. Like a stalling car. “Like, when… you know when you weren’t...-”

“After you drugged me,” he says, voice cold and flat. “That’s what you’re tryna say, right?”

Her eyes flick up to meet his and for a second they’re so full of defensive anger and fury that he has to stop himself from flinching backwards. He tilts his head back in the pillows instead, silently dares her to feel righteous right now. But the look fades as quick as it had sparked, replaced by shame and guilt and sorry.

“Stop talking bullshit, Lou,” he says, hopes beyond hope that she’ll give him the small mercy of ignoring the tremor in his voice “Or just stop talking.”

She takes a deep breath, looking at the ceiling. Holds it. Releases slowly. 

“After we drugged you,” she says, sentences punctuated by the firm clenching of her jaw, “You kept coming in and out of it. You were…”

He turns away from her as she talks, lying flat on his back. His eyes trace the cornices of the ceiling. This is an old house. One of those good bones sort of places. He’s never really noticed before.

“You were scared. You were really scared.”

Yeah no shit, fuckwad.

“You kept saying things. Like the time you had the fever.”

He closes his eyes, waiting for impact.

“You mentioned… him again,” she says, voice tight and strained “Bergen.”

He can imagine the way her face looks. That pained, apologetic expression that’ll be pointed at the ground and not at him. Pity and heartbreak and baby, it’s okay, I’m so sorry, let me make it better. 

Fuck her.

The bird outside pipes up again. Screaming and screaming and screaming.

“Cass, we didn’t know,” she says eventually “I’m so sorry. We both are. We didn’t know.”

Cass snorts.

“Yeah, you did,” he says. He’s almost startled by how strong his voice sounds. Low and steady. Dryly amused. 

“Sorry?”

“You knew.”

He turns back to face her and that look on her face — sorry and lost and a little bit hurt — God, he wishes he could photograph it and keep it forever. 

“Cass,” she’s shaking her head just barely, deer in head lights, beside the headlights, looking at the roadkill. “I swear to God. I swear to you. Neither of us knew. If we had’ve known what Bergen did to you, if we knew how it was gonna affect you...  Look, we would’ve done it different. We would’ve.”

"Okay," he says, nodding like he's considering that. He takes his time sitting up, doesn’t try to hide the dizziness or the way he has to slam his eyes closed as the headache spikes.

“So… remind me, because frankly my memory of last night is a little muddled-" she flinches at that and it sends a thrill through him "-but at any point did you try just giving me the thing and asking me to take it?"

Lou scoffs and looks away, fingers fidgeting together restlessly between her knees.

"Answer me, Lou," he spits. You owe me that. "Did you even once just offer me the fucking pill?"

"No", she says. Low. Flat.

“Why not?” he says, heavy on the faux-ignorance. Like he’s just genuinely puzzled by a weird social phenomenon “Honestly, I’m curious. Why didn’t you just ask me to take it? Wouldn’t that’ve been easier? Could’ve saved the fucking teabag.”

Lou hisses an in-breath through her teeth and tilts her head up to the ceiling, violently blinking tears away that both of them would rather die than see fall right now. “Cass, come on.”

“No, I want you to answer me," he says, calm and low."I want you to think about it and actually fucking answer me.”

When she looks back at him, her face is schooled placid, though her breaths nearly give her away, jumping in little suppressed hiccups in her chest.

"Because you wouldn't have taken it," she says, matter-of-fact, eyebrows arching up in that way they do when she's getting defensive.

He shrugs, like he doesn't get it. “How do you know?”

“Because you’re weird about that stuff,” she says, she sounds almost annoyed that he’s making it spell it out so obviously. “You wouldn’t even eat dinner, you get weird about that stuff."

"Then you knew, didn't you?" he says. In the silence that follows, in the moments it takes for her eyes to close in shame, he can feel his heartbeat start to pick up, caught somewhere between his chest and his throat “You knew, one way or the other what doing that would mean to me. And you did it anyway.”

"Cass-"

"Whose idea was it?" he asks, no chance for another excuse to come pouring out of her "Who came up with the grand plan?"

"Me. I did" but she says it too fast. 

"Right, so Josiah, then," he scoffs. It would almost be easier if it was the other way around. Lou usually meant for the best but sometimes she took a misstep. But Josiah. Josiah's meant to be the one who knows. 

"Don't be angry at him," she says. Fuck her for making it a plea. "Please, Cass. We were just trying to help you, we were trying to keep you safe. We were scared"

"You were scared?"

For once he doesn’t give a shit that his eyes are burning just a little. Let her fucking see him cry. Let it hurt her. It’s all rage anyway. 

"Jesus Christ, you're right. How could I possibly stay mad at you. You were scared"

"We were scared, Cass. We were scared for you" she says, "You weren't eating. You weren't sleeping. You said no hospitals, we didn't want you to fucking die"

"Ah, so it was for my own good."

"Yes," she all but growls.  

Cass laughs. 

"So where's the line, huh?" he says, dangerous manic smile splitting his face "Would you lock me up for my own good? Send me away? Hurt me?"

She looks away, bites down on her bottom lip, leg bouncing double-time with fury and shame while her fingers grip the edge of the chair.

"You know he did that too?" he says, catching her eyes, watching it wound "He was always doing things for my own good. Hitting me, starving me, holding me down.”

“I’m not doing this, Cass,” she says, a mask of stoic indignation “I’m not letting you get a rise outta me just so you can prove some messed up point.”

“But you’d be so good at it, Lou,” he pushes “Maybe not some of it, but we all know you can land a hit, don’t we?”

She crosses her arms, but she’s still sitting forward on the chair, like her body’s poised to launch up at the slightest provocation.

“I’ve always kinda been waiting for it, you know? I knew you were always waiting to teach me a lesson. I just always thought it’d be with your fists not with some weak-ass pussy bullshit in the bottom of a tea cup.”

“Stop it.”

“It fucking kills you, doesn’t it? That you don’t have control over me any more. You would love for me to be back in a Facility lab, waiting for you to dole out piss-weak kindnesses like some fucking psychic Mother Teresa hypocrite.”

There are tears in her eyes as she shakes her head, speaks through her teeth, "That is not fair."

Another laugh. “You're right. It's not."

“Cass, you never told us-"

"I shouldn't have to!” and he fucking bellows it, humor gone, teeth bared like a beast. Lou flinches the best way a fighter knows how, back straight, eyes wide, hands reflexively jolting into fists for an attack that won’t come “I shouldn't have to tell you about every shitty fucking thing in my shitty fucking life to for you to know not to roofie me.”

His heart is hammering hard, too hard and too fast for what’s happening right now. He has the stupid, irrational thought that he’s gonna go to Penance for yelling like that. But that’s… that’s wrong. That’s old thoughts. Old tracks echoing out from the heaviness of his bones right now.

But knowing that doesn’t stop the way his breath picks up, it doesn’t stop the darkening edges of his vision as oxygen refuses to make it to his lungs. He fixes his eyes to the carpet, tries to steady himself on the mattress because he feels like he’s gonna fall, even sitting.

“Jesus, Lou,” he whispers, words barely squeezing out his throat and he’s sure it’s closing up “You, you drugged me. You fucking… you drugged…”

This can’t be real. This isn’t real. Any second the world’s gonna fall away and either he’ll wake up on the couch with his tea still steaming hot and untouched or he’ll wake up back in Christopher’s lap and everything, all of this, will have been some sick, sick nightmare twisting his heart in the worst possible way.

There’s no way this has happened. There’s no way that he managed to find people that he trusts and he loves and who he thought maybe loved him only to have them do this all over again.

His eyes fly around the room as his breathing mutates into something entirely of its own. He’s not even sure what he’s searching for, what he’s hoping to find. An exit, maybe, or a thing that makes sense. Something that will make this make sense or make it disappear or will prove to him that his life can’t be this fucked up. It can’t possibly be this fucked up.

“Cass-”

He sees Lou shifting forward and he stutters back, pushing sheets down to the foot of the bed with his feet in the rush to fly backwards, the twisted-metal headboard digging into his spine.

“Don’t,” he spits, but it's full of sorrow and fear and he hates that it sounds so weak “Don’t you dare.”

And she freezes. Mercifully. Settles back down in the chair, fingers twitching along the woven cane.

The panic attack – and that's what it is, isn't it? the numbed, rational part of his brain provides him that much – builds and builds, uselessly.

Fear that can’t go anywhere. Adrenaline coming in too late to save him. He interlocks his fingers behind his neck, arms squeezing either side of his head as he closes his eyes, toys curling up, body curling up like that could possibly protect him from what’s happening.

He feels like the terror is never gonna leave him, never gonna stop, he’s gonna be like this forever, body shutdown and mind splintering a hundred, a thousand, a million different ways while the world spins on and on around him. But then all at once, it starts running out, like a dying motor.

This is silly, darling boy.

Like somewhere in his head, he’s decided that’s enough time-wasting for now.

You’ve done this a thousand times, what’s the fuss for?

His breaths stutter and slow and level out into wheezes until he feels hollow and numb. When he opens his eyes, he’s still staring at peach paisley bed-sheets, and he’s equal parts relieved and horrified that none of it was a dream.

This is real.

This happened.

Just another layer of kinda fucked up.

"Where are my clothes?" he croaks out, after a few minutes of hollowed-out quiet. He feels water-logged drained dry at the same time "This isn't my shirt. Where's my stuff?"

"You threw up," Lou mutters, chair creaking beneath her as she shifts "You were hyperventilating and... You threw up. So we had to wash it. It's in the dryer, it’ll be done soon."

"Okay.”

The bird outside had changed its tune. Or maybe it's a whole different bird, he's never been great at picking between them. It keeps giving off a low trill, persistent and badgering. Like it has something to say. He misses the screaming.

"I need water,” he says, the dry husk to his voice a testament to the glass.

"’Course. I’ll go get you a glass"

The look he gives her withers the suggestion straight away, “No, you’ll help me to the fucking sink.”

“Cass, come on.”

“No, Lou,” he snaps. He’s almost startled by the fact he has more in him right now. “You ruined it. You get that, right? You fucking ruined it”

He keeps thinking it. All the cliches.

You ruined it. I trusted you. How could you? I could’ve been happy here. You were meant to be safe.

They all feel so stupid. He feels so fucking stupid.

"Yeah," Lou says, softly. Apologetically. Tears stuck in her throat. Bird changing its tune. Or maybe singing the same one. "I know.”

He swings his feet over the edge of the bed and manages to stand up by himself. But by the time he’s taken a step his legs are shaking so badly he doesn’t hesitate grabbing at Lou’s arm for stability, even at the desire to recoil at accepting the help, accepting he’s weak.

Her thumb runs a little circle along his fore-arm and his shoulder tenses up on that side but he doesn’t move to stop her or tell her any different. Too close to acknowledging he’s letting her touch him at all.

He wishes he didn’t know that he’ll forgive her by next week. He’ll forgive them both. Process, get over it, move on. He wants to hate them forever. It’d be so much easier to hate them forever.

He doesn't know why it hurts so much this time. He doesn't know why he feels not just angry but so, so sad. He doesn't know why and also he does and it's the knowing that hurts. 

By the time they’re in the hallway, Cass is crying freely, silently, the only sound the tiny hissing shudder of his breaths as they get caught on the grief in his throat.

“Love...”

Lou reaches up for his face and he pulls back. Not so much a flinch as it is a gentle turn of his face. A pleading for space.

“Don’t,” he says, a little hiccuping sob following the word “Please just don’t.”

She pulls her hand away and readjusts her grip on his arm. She lets him lead, awkward as it is with her arm holding the balance.

He lets the tears slide down his face. He’s too tired to stop them. Too scared. Too fucking sad.

And it’s horrible. The worst.

It’s always the worst. When he cries.

[saleintothe90s]

422. ”Carrie” (May 12 - May 15 1988)

I adore reading about flops. One of my favorite flops to read about is Carrie the musical. A doomed production from the start. Millions of dollars wasted. Bad costumes. Filler songs.

Similar to my Simpsons season 10 review, I wanna give something to the worst aspects of the show. With Simpsons, bad episodes were awarded Marge’s homemade Pepsi. For Carrie, I think I’m going to give the bad parts the “Vending Machine Maxi Pad” award. 

As most anybody who follows Broadway flops knows, clips from Carrie are scarce and are in poor condition on YouTube. Most of the actual clips are from when the show was in test productions in Stratford Upon Avon, but the music has been replaced with the Broadway soundboard.  So, keep that in mind. Most of the time you can’t even make out what’s going on. Here’s the closest copy of the entire show I could find on YouTube, from the Sratford Upon Avon production. 

I know people bash the musical, and sometimes it’s rightfully so, but two things are consistent: Linzi Hateley who played Carrie, and that orchestra that is on.point. Check out the overture.

(source)

The show begins with girls cheering in gym class in the beginning of an aerobics lesson?  The white gym shorts look like diapers. That’s the first of many costume mistakes. 

The song is a banger, I love Darlene Love playing the gym teacher, she’s my favorite part of the song. The only part that is cringey to me is when the girls sing “I go CrAzZyyyyy” and they get on the ground and dance like a toddler having a temper tantrum in a Toys R Us. Since the audio quality is so bad in these clips, I thought at one point the girls were singing about not being caught picking their nose, no, the lyric is:

Bought the clothes, did my nose,

Near the end of the song, the girls are on these rising rafters? It took me for-ever to realize that they were simulating a cheerleader pyramid, and that Carrie had snuck in near the end of the number to be on the bottom of the pyramid. Oh, and she causes it to fall and someone tells her to eat shit. 

“Dream On” is the song that the girls sing while in the showers. Why yes, it does look like they’re in the nude due to the poor quality of the video.  The song is ok, it gives total night driving home from the mall in the late 80s early 90s vibes.  Although one girl says the line, “Six foot three and he's in his forties!”. WHAT. 

Carrie breaks those vibes at around 3:44 by screaming that she’s bleeding. When Miss Gardener slaps Carrie, a cymbal plays. I love it.

I like to imagine that when the girls threw the tampons and pads at Carrie, some flew into the audience. 

“Carrie” is shrill at first, and then it turns into a bit of snoozefest. Linzi sings the name “Carrie” about 458 times. 

Betty Buckley who previously had played the original Grizabella in Cats. and who played the gym teacher in the original movie plays Carrie’s mom. Her song, “Open Your Heart” is pretty good. It’s a nice little break before mom goes bottoms up on Carrie for getting her period (”And Eve Was Weak” [Stratford version with Barbara Cook]):

Carrie: I was in the shower and...

Mom: You’re forbidden from showering with the other girls...

Carrie: I started to bleed!

While Carrie spends the rest of the night in a cellar, the popular girls are at the drive-in. Now, this musical cost over $7 million dollars 1, but yet this was the best set they could think of for a drive-in movie theater: 

It looks like something out of a high school play -- which I guess makes a little sense since they are high schoolers? I’m grabbing at straws here. It cost so much money to put Carrie on, what’s a few more dollars to have two real hollowed out cars on stage, one with Chris (in the red) & Billy (in black) in it, and the other with Sue (pink leggings) and Tommy (purple windbreaker)? 

“Don’t Waste the Moon” is the song sung at the drive-in, with Sue having regrets about throwing tampons at Carrie in the beginning of the song. The song is very 1980s, and it kind of doesn’t fit in the musical. Gene Anthony Ray’s (Billy) talent is wasted here. 

It’s time for some “Evening Prayers” for Carrie where she discusses with God her new telekinesis powers. Meanwhile Carrie’s mom is being a worrywort. During the Stratford production, Carrie’s mom is in a rocking chair over there looking like Whistler’s Mother. 

“You’re going to tell Carrie that you’re sorry!” belts out Miss Gardner. In the musical, Chris seems more obsessed with torturing Carrie than in the movie or book if that’s even possible. Sue is like, “What did she even do to you?”. Even Billy asked earlier, “Who the hell is Carrie White?”. 

Oooof. Seeing the gym teacher try to cheer Carrie up by singing a song about the prom (”Unsuspecting Hearts”) and how she could go too is patronizing. Even if its sung by Darlene Love. 

“Do Me a Favor” might be the most infamous song from the musical. It’s the song I see referred to the most when I read bad reviews. For some reason Chris is wearing a metallic red bodysuit and Sue is wearing a light pink bodysuit. Are they supposed to be that cliche devil and the angel on the shoulder thing? 

Chris looks like Evil Homer! 

I’m going be the unpopular opinion here and say that I love the song! The erratic dancing also fits with the song. 

Carrie tells her mom before “I Remember How Those Boys Would Dance” that Tommy is sweet and polite, but the audience doesn’t know that. Tommy is barely a character in this production. In the end, Carrie uses her powers to shut her mama up.

From what I gather in “Out for Blood” (audio) where Chris and Billy go looking for a pig to kill, the chorus dancers are the pigs? The video quality is so poor. Chris had another crazy ass red outfit on, some sort of shiny red skirt and a crop top. The costumes in this are just horrible. It was like the wardrobe budget was $50. 

This song is so.so.bad. It reminds me of whenever Rocko from Rocko’s Modern Life would see a movie trailer or a parody of something on TV for some reason?! Or the “gotta get that Reptar song” from Rugrats when the kids saw Reptar on ice. Especially when the chorus tells Billy to kill the pig: 

CHORUS Cha! Kill the pig, pig, pig! CHRIS Go! CHORUS Kill 'im, kill 'im, kill, kill! We'll make him bleed! CHRIS Go! CHORUS Get the blood, blood, blood Oooh, blood! CHRIS Oh, baby show... CHORUS Kill the pig, make 'im bleed Let's get the blood, that's all we need!

Sue’s song “It Hurts to be Strong” is a bit of a throw-away. It gets a vending machine maxi pad award. Moving on. It’s filler  

In “I’m Not Alone”, Carrie sings while using her powers to move things around in her room. What things? I don’t know the video quality was so bad. That’s another thing! The sets are nonexistent! I wouldn’t know we were in Carrie’s room unless the Playbill told me. It’s another forgettable song. Three in a row!

Betty Buckley saves the day in, “When There’s No One”, a sad song about facing life without Carrie being her subordinate. 

I don’t understand the prom dresses in “Wotta Night”, they’re all garish giant white numbers that make the actresses look about 20 pounds heaver.  The guys look like that Rio doll from Jem. The costume designer couldn’t just go to Alexanders or A&S and buy prom dresses? You know, why am I even asking at this point. We all saw what Chris has been wearing this whole time. There is a disco ball thrown aside in the corner instead of hanging up. More on that later.

The song sounds way too much like that song “Rock on” by David Essex.  Automatic Vending Machine Maxi Pad. 

Here’s a cute rehearsal clip I found of “Heaven”, the song sung while the Prom Queen and King ballots are being counted. Unfortunately, the audio is bad. Chris is there to remind us that she’s still out for blood.

Finally, finally it’s time for Carrie the prom queen to get drenched with blood -- but the thing is, due to microphone technology back then, Carrie really couldn’t have blood dumped on her. Chris and Billy just run up to her and half ass pour the bucket at her. Could the set designer not suspend the bucket from above the stage? Is that also why the disco ball is thrown in the corner? I don’t even think she has stage blood on her during “The Destruction”, (which is the best song from the musical).  I think a red spotlight over Carrie signifies the blood.

I think Linzi is really only truly covered in blood for press shots. 

Anyway, the Destruction, I love it when she screeches “DOESN’T ANYBODY EVER GET IT RIGHT??! DOESN’T ANYBODY THINK THAT I HEAR?!” It’s the best. I could listen to it all day and I almost did the other day. 

Due the poor video quality, I can’t really tell how the prom-goers are dying. They’re kinda just twitching there in the laser light or slamming themselves against the clear barrier that descended from the stage to signify Carrie closing the doors to the gym. 

After Carie kills everybody, this giant white staircase descends and covers up the gym. I read somewhere, I forgot where, that its supposed to be the school stairs? We’re led to believe that Carrie’s crazy mom ran to the school. The first time I saw it, I thought that it was Carrie and her mom getting ready to go to heaven. I thought maybe someone over at the set department took the classic song too literally. 

It appears that while the stairs are descending, Carrie smears stage blood on her. 

The reprise of “Carrie’ is so much better than the original. Carrie stops her mom’s heart cold mid song. Then she slins down the stairs and Sue catches her. In an interview on playbill.com, Betty Buckley says that on opening night (I don’t know if she meant the first preview, or the official opening night), there were boos from the audience at the end, but cheers for Linzi and herself. I believe it. Betty and Linzi were amazing. Darlene Love was amazing. The rough scenes are the scenes with the school kids. They’re awful, in the words of my boy Jay Sherman, “they’re awful I tell you. aw.ful.” 

(relevant prom .gif) 

Facebook | Etsy | Retail History Blog | Twitter | |YouTube Playlist | Random Post | ko-fi donation | Instagram @ thelastvcr | other tumblr

1. Rothstein, Mervyn. “After Seven Years And $7 Million, ‘Carrie’ Is a Kinetic Memory (Published 1988).” The New York Times, May 17, 1988, sec. Theater. https://www.nytimes.com/1988/05/17/theater/after-seven-years-and-7-million-carrie-is-a-kinetic-memory.html.

New York City Broadway reviews on the news in NYC for Carrie.  That first reviewer, Stuart Klein, I love him. I’ve watched several of his reviews on flops on YouTube. Joel Sigel who was the Good Morning America film reviewer is here too. 

Archive of Betty Buckley interview. 

[vaguewrites]

The Morning After

I wrote a sequel to my Watch Dogs fic because I’m a horrible monster who can’t be stopped. Lots of swearing, mentions of smut and Aiden/Defalt ahead.

An alarm jolts him awake, the shrill buzzing right in his ears. For a few seconds Defalt doesn’t know where he is. He’s tangled up in sheets that aren’t his, there’s none of his posters or monitors on the walls and where there should be his closet there’s a door that leads into a bathroom. He sits up and pain shoots up his back and he grunts, falling back against the bed. There’s warmth next to him. A figure that groans and rolls over to grab the buzzing thing, a phone, and shuts off the alarm before tossing it aside. It’s Pearce.

He’s naked next to Pearce, in Pearce’s bed, in that shitty motel Pearce likes to hang out in, in Pearce’s bed. Because they fucked. First in Defalt’s hideout and then here, in a proper bed with pillows for Defalt to shove his face into to hide his own stupid high pitched moans. No wonder Defalt can’t feel his own fucking ass.

“Morning,” Pearce says, rubbing at his eyes, and Defalt doesn’t know why he’s bothering to make small talk. Isn’t this where one of them has to get up and get the fuck out? And by one of them, he means himself since this isn’t his place. Where are his clothes anyway?

“Hey,” he replies, and his voice is hoarse and raspy. Probably because he’d sucked Pearce off before crying on his dick like one of those twinks from the bad pornos. “What time is it?”

“Eight.”

Defalt groans. “Jesus fucking Christ, Pearce, why the fuck did you set your alarm that early?”

Pearce chuckles. It’s almost weird hearing him laugh. He almost doesn’t seem like the kind who does. Defalt has to look at him to make sure it is actually him and not some weird body double. He’s stretched out on the bed, one arm tucked under his pillow, staring up at the ceiling fan. He’s a hell of a lot more muscular than Defalt expected, but it’s not the kind you build up in a gym, but the kind you get from a lot of physical labour. Such as running around Chicago, climbing buildings and fucking up other people’s shit. Pearce is sturdy, thick and he’s got a light dusting of hair on his chest and stomach. There are scars too, some look like they came from bullets, some are pale and silvery from age and others pink and raw, probably a few weeks old. Defalt’s hands itch to touch him, to wander over his bulky frame and feel along each scar and hard curve of muscle. But he doesn’t.

“I didn’t think I was going to be up all night,” Pearce says. He throws Defalt a look. Defalt would almost call it mischievous but that doesn’t feel like the right word for Pearce. “You feeling okay?”

Defalt snorts. “You’re not that fucking big Pearce.”

“Not what you said last night.”

Defalt swats at him and Pearce catches his wrist. He thinks he’s just going to drop it but then Pearce pulls his hand in and kisses his knuckles. Defalt stills as he watches him. Pearce’s lips are soft and plump and his stubble scrapes his skin but Defalt kinda likes it this way. “What’re you doing?” He asks when he finally gets his voice to work. It feels like he’s swallowed cotton.

Pearce raises a brow. “Knitting. What does it look like?”

“Don’t you want me gone?” Defalt says before he can stop himself.

“Do you want to leave?” Pearce challenges him, then drops his hand and Defalt suddenly feels cold. He doesn’t know what to say to that. Does he want to leave? Normally when he hooks up with guys it’s always a comfy no strings attached deal where they both know it’s just a quick fuck and nothing more. He normally doesn’t sleep over, or let them sleep over. One of them is always gone after it’s over. With Pearce though, it’s different. He doesn’t know how or why it just is. Defalt could very easily just get up now and throw on his clothes and fuck off but he doesn’t. He stays in the bed, curled next to Pearce and chances throwing his arm over the man’s chest. Pearce doesn’t hesitate to pull him in, his rough, calloused hands smoothing over Defalt’s back.

“No,” Defalt says, because he feels he should probably say something.

Aiden kisses the side of his forehead. “Then don’t.”

Defalt rests his head in the crook of Aiden’s neck. He’s so warm it’s almost unreal, like a human furnace. Aiden holds him, rubbing his back until Defalt’s eyes grow heavy and he drifts back into sleep.

The next time he wakes up there’s no harsh ringing in his ears, but there’s also no Aiden in the bed with him. He sits up, winces, then glances down at a messily scrawled note left beside him.

“Sorry, T-Bone had a job, lunch later?”

Fucking T-Bone, Defalt thinks, tossing the note aside and gets up for a shower. He feels better after washing, then notices the amount of bruises and bite marks Aiden left on him, the bitch. The biggest one is on his neck. A deep purple colour that’s not gonna fade for a while. Defalt presses it and hisses as it stings a little. His shirt and hoodie don’t cover it but, hell, Clara and T-Bone are going to figure out they’re fucking eventually so there’s no point hiding it. And since Defalt doesn’t exactly want to spend the rest of the day cooped up in Aiden’s shitty motel room he decides he may as well head to their bunker.

That’s where he finds Clara, hunched over her laptop and typing away. She only spares him a glance, her perfectly drawn on eyebrow raised at his disheveled appearance.

“You look like shit,” she says, “I was trying to get through to you last night but you weren’t answering.”

“Yeah,” Defalt tries to hide his limp as he moves to sit beside her on one of the spare chairs. “Had stuff to do. Working on the next album. I’m behind as it is.”

Which is kinda true. That was what he was doing before Aiden railed him against his desk.

“You know if you’re struggling with work stuff you can take a back seat. I don’t think anyone will mind. T-Bone definitely won’t say shit.”

“Ah, I’m not worried about whatever the fuck T-Bone says,” Defalt leans back in the chair, one leg thrown over the other despite the ache in his lower back. “Where’s he at anyway?”

“The Loop. He and Aiden are following a lead. Though I think there’s more to it. T-Bone didn’t seem all that thrilled with Aiden this morning but I don’t know why. Which is weird because he adores Aiden.”

She doesn’t get to say anything more as the door slides open and Aiden and T-Bone step through. T-Bone looks as though he’s biting his tongue, his brows are furrowed but when he meets Defalt’s eyes he quickly looks away. That’s not unusual. He doesn’t meet his eyes often, even now when they’re supposed to be over the past. Well, over it is a kinda loose term. They got drunk together, Defalt screamed at him about his brother and how T-Bone was a fucking murderer and then they ugly cried in each other’s arms while T-Bone said he was sorry over and over. It’s obviously not fixed everything right away but it’s something, a start at healing. They’re not fighting as often at least.

“Jay, I need you,” Aiden says, hands shoved in pockets and voice gruff. It’s a little surreal seeing him being his regular stand-offish asshole self again after this morning, but Defalt shakes it off. They’re meant to be more “professional” now anyway.

“Alright. Text you later Clara,” Defalt says as he stands and Clara offers him a half wave. T-Bone watches as they leave and Defalt gives him an odd look because he can practically feel the tension rolling from him in waves. What kind of bitch fit did he and Aiden have?

He doesn’t find out until they’re halfway to the Mad Mile.

“He says I’m going to drag you down with me,” Aiden says. He’s gripping the steering wheel hard enough his knuckles are white.

Defalt frowns. “Do you care?”

“Yeah.”

Defalt doesn’t know what to say to that. He squirms in his seat, watching the buildings speed past. Something ugly and cold is curling in his chest. “So… This is a break up? Could’ve just said so before we got in the car.”

“I’m better at talking when I’m focused on something else,” Aiden says, “But if you want to get out I’ll stop us somewhere.”

“So you do want to break up,” Defalt grits his jaw. He’s not sure why he cares so much. He rests his head on his hand and stares out the window and tries not to think about the heat behind his eyes that threaten to spill over.

“I want to know what you want. I asked you this morning if you wanted to leave and you said no. I’m giving you that option again. I’m not the easiest guy to get along with, I know, and I’m definitely not the easiest to date. But I like you a lot, have for a while, and I’d like to try and make it work. I just don’t want you to feel like you’re stuck with me.”

“Stuck with you?”

“He brought up our age difference as well. How you might not want to settle down at all and I’m forcing you into it. How I’ll expect too much of you too soon. I don’t want to do that, Jay.”

“Sounds like you’re letting him do all the talking for me,” Defalt says.

“That’s why I’m talking to you now. What do you want?”

Defalt shifts again. What the hell does he want? He’d spent years focusing on his music and computers because it was what he was good at. He didn’t plan to make a career out of it, it just happened. He thought he wanted to kill T-Bone, wanted to make him suffer like he had. Only it turned out T-Bone had been living his own personal hell for years. So, in the end vengeance wouldn’t do jack shit. When it comes to dating, he was never with anyone for too long. He had a lot of demons and his boyfriends never had a lot of patience for it. Usually he was the one dumped. When he got famous for his music he couldn’t make time to date so he just hooked up with random guys when he could. But now… Hell, he still doesn’t fucking know. He’s liked Pearce too, he just never assumed the guy was into other guys. Last night was a huge fucking surprise.

“You,” he blurts out, and he almost misses the twitch of Aiden’s lips, “I mean, I’m willing to give this a shot if you are. Dating I mean.”

Aiden glances at him, deep green eyes full of so much fondness and Defalt’s not used to getting a look like that from anyone.

“Yeah. I can give it a shot,” Aiden says. “So long as you promise not to punch T-Bone when we get back.”

Defalt scoffs and folds his arms over his chest. “How’d he find out anyway?”

“He asked where you were because Clara couldn’t get a hold of you. I said you were with me.”

“Ah.”

The rest of the drive is in silence until they pull up to a bar. Defalt doesn’t get why they’re here until he sees Aiden looking at him expectantly and then he remembers the note.

“Oh, you lied about a job just to get me out for a date, Pearce?” Defalt can’t help the twitch of his lips.

“Technically I didn’t lie. I never said what I needed you for,” Aiden replies.

“Smart ass.”

“Thanks.”

Yeah, Defalt never thought much about what he wanted from life, other than causing another man pain. It’s almost bizarre to think how empty he’s always been, and just either never noticed or got too used to it. It feels like he’s woken up from some bad dream, or snapped back into reality after being trapped in his own head for so long. He’d thought he'd been living before, but now he realises he was just going through the motions, functioning but not attached to anything. It’s a stark contrast to now, where he feels so at home with Aiden, Clara and, fuck, even T-Bone, and he thinks about stuff outside of work and hacking and death. He doesn’t feel like himself anymore but maybe that’s a good thing. Maybe he had to be broken before he could fix himself back together. Maybe, as sappy as it sounds, Aiden’s the missing piece he needed.

[cyberdva]

Lost Grieving- Richie Tozier X Reader {Chapter 1☆}

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ 

Summary- The reader gets stuck in strange implications and finds herself in Derry, Maine, the location of the infamous Steven King book ‘IT’. Unknowingly she stumbles across the Neibolt House, the dirty and burnt remains of a tragic fire. She remembers what horrors had happened and is hesitant to stay. What will happen when she runs into the one and only Losers Club? What will they do if the strange new girl claiming to be from another universe, tells them they’re all made up characters from a book? Will she help them ‘defeat’ the morbid Pennywise or give up and be lost in perishable hell forever, filled with lost grieving. Proceed with caution when you drive into this tale of horror, humor, and a handful of twisted romance with Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier.

☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆ 

Main Masterlist 

IT Masterlist

Prologue

Chapter 1 (+)

Chapter 2

Word Count: 2k

Date Uploaded: 10/17/19

A/N: The first chapter got so much love, so I knew I had to write the next chapter ASAP!! Thank you guys so much!! Also the long italicised paragraphs is an excerpt from the book to put into perspective the problem from a background source, kind of like an example basically. 

Warnings: Cursing

 ☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆.。.:*・°☆

“Excuse me?” the small boy peered up at me, he picked up what seemed to be an inhaler. He didn’t have his signature cast yet, I was here before most of the catastrophe. How should I approach him, there’s no way I’m telling him directly, he wouldn’t believe me. What the hell should I tell him then? He stared at me like I was crazy, taking a step back for good measure. I mean I don’t blame him, I look like I’ve been rolling in the dirt. I panicked, it was going to happen one way or another.

 “Uh, I think I’m lost.” It was a simple explanation, he kept looking at me, like I had five heads. 

He gave me a swift look of disgust, probably since I was covered in dirt. “I’m sorry my mom told me not to talk to strangers.” Shit. He was the germaphobe, eternally clung to his mother’s side, until she dies at sixty-six. 

“I’m sorry, I need to get home.” He brushed past me and jumped at the sudden contact, his pills flooded out from his fanny pack and piled onto the ground. Some rolled forwards while most of them flew in different directions. An abundance of different pill bottles fell next, the short boy looked at the now germ infested medicine in horror. 

I didn’t know what to do,”Do you want my help or would you prefer me not to touch?” He dropped to the ground and sorted pills by color and stuffing them back into the right tube.

“How do I know that you’re not some psychopath that could kill me?”

“Um, I don’t know.”

“Fair point, just grab the red ones. Be careful my mom will flip of she figures out what just happened.”

Ah, Mrs.Kaspbrak, a woman that completely overprotects her child to the point of isolation and creates illnesses just to keep him ‘safe.’ I thought of the book, how it showed his mom slowly incasing his youth in a small orange pill bottle.

-

Eddie gasped. He could see a foot floating inside a shole filled with green smoke. The bones in his foot! He crossed his great big toe over his second toe and the eldritch bones in the scope made an X that was not white, but goblin-green. He could see-

His mother shrieked, a rising sound of panic cut through the quiet shoe store like a runaway reaper-blade, like a firebell, like doom on horseback. He jerked his startled, dismayed face out of the viewer and saw her pelting towards him across the store in her stocking feet, her dress flying out behind her. She knocked a chair over and one of those shoe-measuring things that always tickled his feet went flying. Here bosom heaved. Her mouth was a scarlet O of horror. Faces turned to follow her progress.

“Eddie get off there!” she screamed. “Get off there!” Those machines give you cancer! Get off there! Eddie! Eddieee-!” 

-

I remember that chapter, I felt so bad for Eddie and yet I’m here ‘talking’ to him. Reality keeps straying quicker and quicker away from me. Next thing you know I’ll be fooling around with the damn Losers Club. As fun as that seems I had ongoing worry, is my mom ok? Will I be ok? Am I in a coma?

I couldn’t stop thinking about my fate, could I be dying. Is this the last moment I’ll spend until my time is up. In Derry, Maine! The ‘shittiest place on earth.’ After all these murders and that clown rampaging in the sewers I see why the town was coined the title.

Most importantly to the subject, why does Eddie have so many pills? We began to pick each up out of the sorting it didn’t take long to pick them all up. No eye contact was made, my chances were dialing, if anyone could help me with this phenomena it would be the clown-fighting teens.

Eddie looked around, “I’m missing one.” How the hell does he know that. Lurking silence was downed upon us as we glanced around a grim voice cut in.

“Do you think this will help me, Eddie?”

 We whipped our heads above us, a creature will drool castading out from its mouth crouched holding the last red pill. Its hair was knotted, ratty. Lumps and sores were plucked all over its thin and lanky body. There was no nose, horrible retching sounds came out of it as it inhaled and exhaled. Ripped cloth adorned the body, bandages came as a pair. A huge pile of them were attached to its left ‘foot.’ A moan escaped his mouth area, Eddie groaned. The two of us scattered as we ran from the monster. I remembered this from the newer movie and book, IT is here, he found us. How can I even see it, only people affected by….. Shit. The monster got up and limped towards us, we were cornered. I was racked with fear, tears filled my eyes and my vision was inconceivable. It screamed and retched as we ran towards the dirty Neibolt house. The makeshift cast banged against the ground with such force and rhythm, he was on our tails. 

 Eddie made sure to check back to see if he was dreaming or not, his nerves got the best of him and he kept tripping. A few tears escaped my eyes, I couldn’t be scared isn’t that what the clown wants? I know I couldn’t die from this, but if I see IT what will stop me from just that. We reached a fence, the screaming stopped, as did the banging. I glanced behind me. This can’t be real.

 Above all the grass and weeds was what you could only read about, what you could only dream about, something that you should never see in real life. It should’ve been a fictional character, in a book, but there it was, right in front of me. That’s when I realized I can’t go back, how can I wake up from this, it’s real. It has to be.

                              Pennywise the Dancing Clown.

 Rows of red, rubbery balloons covered his face. His white clown outfit hung in ruffles with three red pom-poms. The balloons went above his head, disappearing into oblivion. A crooked smile was slapped across his face. ‘Just Kill me now.’ I thought. It was him, down to the makeup and hair. Eddie was petrified. 

“Where ya going Eds?” His voice made a shiver go up my spine.                                         “Shouldn’t you be home by now?”

The clown looked over to me, “And you, Y/N. You can’t go home, can you?” He giggled. What does he mean, why can’t I go home. I want to be in bed, waiting for that last day of school.

“Come join the clown Eds.” Eddie looked at me. “You’ll float down here.” IT shrugged his shoulders.

“We all float down here. Yes we do!”

A shrill laugh came out of its mouth, why did this have to happen to me! Eddie screamed and I followed him as we ran through a fence parting. His breaths were choppy, the boy fell once more and the sound of a balloon popping was all that was left.

He glanced back at me, “Please tell me you saw that too.”

[hermannsthumb]

47. our first date goes horribly so i don’t know why i say yes to a second date, and now, we’re stuck at the diner until the snow slows down and i’m having fun

47. our first date goes horribly so i don’t know why i say yes to a second date, and now, we’re stuck at the diner until the snow slows down and i’m having fun

from winter writing prompts here

okay i really enjoyed this one and it got to over 2.5k SO in the hopes of saving people lengthy scrolling i posted it to ao3 instead!

-----------------------

Like, the thing is, as much as it sucks, Newt kinda went into this whole thing knowing he was gonna fuck it up somehow. He holds no illusions about his charisma, or his ability to maintain a stable, cohesive line of conversation, or even the general fucking fact that he tends to overwhelm people within five minutes of meeting them. His relationship with Hermann was (important indicator here: was) good for that reason–Hermann never had to put up with him in person. He never had to find out that Newt sometimes gets so excited about something he can’t help but interrupt whoever it is he’s talking to, or rants about anything and everything that crosses his mind, or cracks weird jokes when he’s nervous. He never had to hear Newt’s (shrill) voice. He never had to see Newt’s (cool, but probably tasteless) tattoos. 

It never felt like blatant deception. Newt wasn’t going to start out a letter to Hermann like hey, man, I sound like a symphony of kazoos and one time I got tossed out of a TGI Friday’s because I drank too much at happy hour and started ranting about the mating habits of salamanders. It just…wasn’t the right kind of medium for that.

The way Hermann’s looking at him now, though, is making Newt reconsider.

read the rest on ao3 here